


For Who I've Not Yet Become

by Kellyscams



Series: I'm On the Hunt [1]
Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Humor, Do-Over, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Eventual Happy Ending, Explicit Language, F/F, F/M, Falling In Love, Feelings Realization, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Holidays, Kids, Light Angst, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Marriage, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mnior violence, Non-Explicit Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pets, Racism, Separations, The Family Man, The Family Man AU, angel!eli, based on a movie, holiday fluff, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-11 16:51:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 112,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8999029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kellyscams/pseuds/Kellyscams
Summary: Bucky Barnes -- powerful Wall Street tycoon -- has everything he needs. Money, good looks, a life in the fast lane. He's living on top of the world in a Park Avenue Penthouse in Manhattan, is the youngest vice president ever over at Stark Industries and might even be named Forbes Man of the Year -- again. Nothing can bring him down.That is until Bucky has a strange encounter with a young man named Eli on Christmas Eve and wakes up Christmas morning married to his old college sweetheart, Steve Rogers. With his entire world turned upside down, Bucky must find a way to navigate his way through marriage and fatherhood and suburbia. And maybe find the unique answer to the age old question... What if...?





	1. JFK Airport - 2005

**Author's Note:**

> So, this fic is for the holidays mostly but it isn't strictly a holiday fic. I didn't expect it to be chaptered, but for readability, it seemed better that way. I do have 2 more of the 9 chapters to write, but I way ahead of everything and since it's Christmas Eve I thought I'd start posting now. I should be done with the whole thing in just a few days.
> 
> Apologies for so many mistakes. This is both unbetaed and barely proofed
> 
>  **EDIT** : it's come to my attention that a few years ago another lovely writer also wrote an AU based off the same source material. That's not all that unusual, it's just that the movie these two fics are based off isn't all that popular so, yes, there will be details between both fics that are _super_ close but those're only from the movie. 
> 
> From the author of the other fic in question: _We both know they two people can write an AU of the same movie without copying each other--it happens with more popular movies all the time. Someone linked me to this story and I scanned it just to make sure that it's not some kind of copy-and-paste type situation, and it's obviously not. I'm sure it'll stay that way and as long as it does, you can feel free to either nod people towards this comment when they get on your ass, put it in your author's note, whatever. I'm really sorry this is happening; the fic went really big and now it's sort of like a THING in the fandom and I think there are a LOT of people who don't recognize that it's an AU._
> 
> To LavenderProse, I congratulate you on all your success with your fic! 
> 
> To anyone who has read her fic and decides to give this one a go as well, thank you very much. For anyone reading for the first time, I hope you enjoy.

The airport smells like roasted almonds and newspapers and coffee. Steve smells like warmth and wind and his cheap cologne. Bucky breathes the scent in and never wants to exhale as he keeps his arms wrapped around his boyfriend a few seconds longer. Overhead, security announcements play and people brush by around them. Curbside check in was a blessing and so is a 4:30am flight, but this is it. Security is where they’ll be parting. For the next year.

“You’ve got your passport?” Steve asks, keeping his face pressed right against Bucky’s neck. He’s not _that_ much taller than Bucky, but those few inches do make it nice for him to rest there. “And your boarding pass?”

Bucky nods. Has both tight in his grip. Almost as tight as his grip on Steve, which he finally undoes a few seconds later.

“Alright,” he says. “I gotta go. Cutting it too close enough as it--don’t do that,” he warns when he sees those tears begin to fill Steve’s eyes again. They did their crying already. Last night. Buckets of it instead of all the goodbye sex they had planned. Steve’s face scrunches as he tries to hold them back. “Come on, baby doll, it’s okay.” Bucky pulls him back into his arms. “It’s just a year. We can do this.”

“I know,” Steve agrees, voice splintering and giving way to the emotions he’s so badly trying to keep inside. “I know we can.”

The security line is starting to really pile up now. If it gets too much longer, Bucky might actually miss his flight. He tears away.

“I love you.” Bucky kisses him. “One year, Steve.” One year in Russia. An internship at one of the biggest banks in the world and Bucky’ll be set for life. Any MBA job he wants. He’ll be on top of the world and take Steve with him. “I’ll be back in a year and I’m going to sweep you off your feet. Nothing's gonna keep me from you, baby doll."

"But--"

"If you're really gonna make me do this here, I will." When Steve's weepy eyes sweep back to his, tears now joined with curiosity, Bucky shoves the pain from his own voice to start singing. Softly, but with enough feeling that people around them can hear. "Ain't no mountain high, ain't no valley low, ain't no river _wide_ enough, baby...!"

Steve quickly hushes him and glances around. Despite his flushed cheeks, there's a tiny grin twitching at the corners of his mouth. 

"Is that a smile I see?" Steve shakes his head. "No? Should I sing louder?" 

When Bucky opens his mouth again, Steve reaches forward, eyes wide and head shaking, and presses his hand to Bucky's mouth.

"No," Steve says. "And, yes. Okay? Satisfied? You made me smile."

"Yeah." Bucky leans in for a kiss. "I love you, Steve. Nothing's gonna change that, I swear."

He plants one more kiss to Steve’s mouth, hard and passionate and he hopes Steve knows how much he loves him because he runs over to the line when he ends the kiss. Bucky needs to. If he doesn’t, he just might--

“Bucky!” Steve shouts. “Bucky, wait!”

No. Oh, Steve, don’t do this.

“Bucky, please, don’t get on that plane.”

“Steve…” Bucky turns back around. “Steve, we’ve talked about this. This is our future. Our plan.”

Steve is nodding as he stands just on the other side of the security checkpoint. “I know. I know it is. I just… I have a really bad feeling.”

His face is so pale, eyes red and puffy, and Bucky’s heart just about cracks in two. Bucky eases around the few people behind him and moves for Steve. The second he’s close, Steve is grabbing onto his hands like he’ll never let go. 

“A year, Steve.” Steve is shaking his head already. “That’s all. Twelve months and we’ll be together again.”

“Yeah, I know.” He sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. “I know we talked about this a hundred times and this is a great opportunity for you, but--”

“For _us,_ Steve,” Bucky reminds him. “This is for us. You’ve got a scholarship to one of the best law schools in the country and I’ve got an internship to one of the most prestigious banks in the world.” 

“Please, Bucky,” Steve begs. “Please, stay with me. Forget the plan. Let’s just do something wild. Let’s go get married.” Bucky’s eyes go wide. “I know that’s crazy. I know you’re only 21 and I’m only 20 and you’ve got another year of school and I’ve got another two, but… I know I love you and I… Bucky, please, don’t go.”

Bucky clicks his tongue and cups his hand under Steve’s chin. He already has all this planned out. When he gets back, he’s going to get down on one knee and ask Steve to be his forever. They’ll start a family and with this plan they’ll be able to spoil those kids rotten. With Bucky working as a broker on Wall Street and Steve a corporate lawyer they’ll give them anything they ever want. Toys and trips and all the best. Bucky’ll be a better dad than his ever was. 

“You big dummy,” he teases. “I’m gonna ask you to marry me next year.” Bucky takes in a deep, steadying breath before his own emotions get the better of him. “We should just stick to our decision.”

Tears fall from Steve’s eyes. He fixes his big hands so they’re shackled around Bucky’s wrists. Shaking his head, he pulls him in and kisses him. 

“I know what we decided, Bucky. I know what we planned. But this feels wrong, doesn’t it?”

Separating, yes. Yes, it does. It feels wrong to be away from Steve, but, goddamnit, Bucky’s going to make something of himself. He’s going to give Steve the life he deserves. He won’t be like his own parents. Dad working two jobs just to make ends meet with no time for his children. Mom a lonely housewife desperate for a bit of attention and raising her children on her own. Scrimping and scraping just to pay a mortgage on a tiny house in Indiana while raising two kids and putting food on the table. Bucky knows they’ve tried. Knows they’ve done the best they can with what they had, but he’s not going to let him and Steve be them. He’s not.

Bucky won’t even let them be like Steve’s parents. Proud business owner of Big Joe’s Tires and a pediatric nurse. Paycheck to paycheck with a small house on Long Island, and for what? Steve still had to take out loans for college, even if they paid for his housing. He’s lucky he’s got this scholarship for the next two years. 

Bucky’s not gonna let his dreams of success fall by the wayside over one year of being apart. He can do this. _They_ can do this. And then _all_ their dreams will come true. 

“Look, Steve,” he whispers, brushing a hand over Steve’s cheek. “We talked about this. It’s just being at the airport. No one ever thinks straight at the airport.” 

Bucky certainly isn’t. Looking into Steve’s weepy eyes and feeling the warmth coming from his body and the hearing the sincerity in his voice, Bucky’s so very tempted to just give into his heart instead of listening to his brain. Just stay. Here. With Steve. It’d be so easy.

“I know we talked about it,” Steve agrees. “But I just have a feeling that if you get onto that plane, I’m never gonna see you again.”

“No, Steve, I--” Bucky needs a second to gather his thoughts. To remember again why they’re doing it this way. “We follow the plan and we’ll be great.” 

“You wanna do something great?” Steve takes hold of Bucky’s hands again. Tight and endearing, with a big, warm smile on his face and a magical sparkle in those baby blues, and why does he have to be so precious? Why does he have to make Bucky’s heart pound like this and his head spin? Even his knees are weak. Bucky’s about to agree, and Steve hasn’t even said his crazy idea yet. “Let’s _ditch_ the plan.” He gets a nervous chuckle past a shaky grin. “We’ll start our lives now. I have no idea what that life will look like, but I know that it has _us together_ and that’s a _good_ thing. The _only_ thing that matters. The plan doesn’t make us great, Bucky. What we _have_ does. _Us_ together in _any_ life, _that’s_ what makes us great.”

Tossing his arms around Steve’s neck, Bucky holds him close and breathes him in again. Kisses him and tells him over and over just how much he loves him. 

“Steve,” he breathes. “I love you so much.” 

Steve’s eyes fill with so much happiness and hope as he kisses back. He laughs, even giggles a little as he nuzzles against the side of Bucky’s neck.

“I love you, too.”

“And one year in Russia is not going to change that.” And all that hope deflates. “I’m gonna give you everything you’ve ever wanted.” He is. Bucky’s going to give Steve everything his heart’s ever desired. “I’m gonna take you all over the world. We’re gonna see _everything_! You’ve always wanted to live in Paris for a year, right?” Another tear fall from Steve’s puffy eyes. He nods. Bucky wipes the tear away. If this big goon doesn’t stop it, Bucky’s gonna start crying again, too. “I’m gonna make that happen. We’re gonna climb the Eiffel Tower together, punk. Me and you. But that can’t happen if I don’t do this. All our dreams are gonna come true. I’m gonna give you the world, Steve.”

“I don’t want the world, Bucky,” Steve whispers, pressing their brows together. “I just want you. I choose _us_. To the end of the line.”

"You’re gonna get me, Steve.” Bucky gently cradles his face. “Don’t you worry.” 

Bucky lets their lips ghost together one last time and then quickly heads back towards security. Where there’s no longer a line. No longer anything to hold Bucky back. He turns once more towards a teary-eyed, sniffling Steve and blows a kiss before making his way towards their future. 


	2. Eleven Years Later

The fresh scent of coffee fills the Park Avenue penthouse as it brews in the state of the art gourmet maker. A crisp copy of the New York Times glows in the sunlight streaming through the wall length windows, the pages crinkling like music as Bucky turns them while CNBC plays in the background and a pretty blonde emerges from the hall. 

“Coffee smells good,” she says as she ties her peacoat closed. 

“It better,” Bucky answers, switching from the paper to his tablet to check his emails. “It’s coming from the best brewer money can buy.” 

She runs a hand across the back of his neck as she moves by him and heads towards the counter to pour herself a cup of his coffee. Bucky’s skin shudders pleasantly under her touch as it did last night. More than shuddered, last night. 

“What are you doing tonight?” he asks, still bent over the table and running over today’s agenda. He’s been working towards this deal for _weeks_ now. 

“It’s Christmas Eve.” Oh, right. “I’m going out to Long Island to see my parents.”

Bucky crinkles his face and looks up. “Long Island? Do you have any idea how bad the traffic’s gonna be?”

“Yes.” She grins at her coffee. Hums as she takes a sip. Amazingly good, just like Bucky promised. “That’s why I’m taking the train.” 

Smirking, Bucky tucks his hands behind his head. Thinks about all the festive things they could do if he can get her to forgo the trek out to Long Island. Mistletoe and garland and dripping eggnog. Naughty lists indeed, Santa might wanna turn away for this one. 

“Why don’t you come here instead?” he offers. 

She takes another sip of her coffee before putting the cup back down on the marble countertop. It goes down willingly, but the coffee’s bewildered at not being finished. Bucky can’t blame it. Before she leaves, she adds one last kiss to bed worn hair. 

“Maybe another time,” she says as she lets herself out. “It was nice meeting you, James.” 

The sound of her heels echoes off his floors until the door closes behind her. Still smiling, Bucky switches CNBC for a bit of music, raising the volume all the way up so that La donna é mobile blasts through the entire place. Though his Italian could use a little work, Bucky sings and dances around his place while he gets ready for work, letting his lungs belt out the lyrics as he makes the difficult decision choosing between wearing a Gucci, Armani, or Ralph Lauren suit to work today. Actually, Bucky decides that the Rolex he wants to wear today goes best with his new Dolce & Gobbana. He enjoys the East River view as he dresses right there in his huge-walk in closet. 

Quickly running some leave-in conditioner though his hair, Bucky makes sure to get a nice puff going for that look he gets told is adorably professional. One that works with both his boyish charm and mature, sleek lines. Makes him appear trustworthy, is what the consensus seems to be. It’s been working for the past eleven years anyway. No need to change it now. He dabs on a bit of cologne, takes on long look at himself in the mirror to make sure everything is just right, and gives his reflection a nice, toothy smile. 

Just before leaving his bedroom, he pauses to make sure the framed copy of Forbes’ Magazine that’s hanging right by the door is straight -- the issue naming him man of the year three years ago. The Winter Soldier, that’s what they dubbed him. Wall Street’s youngest executive who came swooping in like a goddamn blizzard, unseen and unpredictable. An asset to the financial world. 

Still singing -- because why shouldn’t he; he’s living the perfect life -- Bucky gets on the elevator with his own cup of delicious coffee, his paper tucked under his arm, and makes his way down to the first floor. The only time he pauses in his very loud -- and admittedly not very good, but why should he care, he can buy everyone in this building -- singing is when the elevator stops on the 45th floor and a young woman gets on with him. 

She blushes when she sees who it is and Bucky smirks as she steps on and makes the very bold and daring remark, “Please, don’t stop singing because of me.” 

Bucky laughs. “Am I very entertaining, then? Perhaps, I should charge for my performances.” 

“Is that right?” She giggles behind the back of her hand. “I don’t know if I could afford it.” 

“Well, tickets _do_ cost seven figures. Or maybe…” He tilts his head, gazes through his lashes. “Seven digits, maybe.

He gets off the elevator with her number. Of course he does. Bucky’s used to getting what he wants. It’s become quite commonplace nowadays. 

“Carl!” Bucky greets the doorman pleasantly. “How’d you make out this year?” 

The doorman lights up when he sees him coming and tips his hat in Bucky’s direction. He immediately picks up the phone and is probably already calling the valet to have Bucky’s car brought to the front. At the front desk Carl sits at are a tons of gifts. Residents showing him and the few others who work there their appreciation.

“Not too bad, Mr. Barnes,” he says when he sets the phone back down on the receiver. “About four grand. I’m putting it all in Commercial Paper, like you said.” 

Bucky gives him a smile and a thumbs up. “Good, but just until the Euro turns.”

“Thank you, Mr. Barnes!” Carl grins back. “Will I see you this evening?”

“Probably not!” Bucky calls over his shoulder as he heads towards the door, seeing his car being pulled up to the curb. “Working late!”

“Always working!”

“As long as the world turns!”

“If I don’t see you, have a Merry Christmas, Mr. Barnes!”

Bucky waves over his shoulder as the doorman stationed at the door -- who Bucky smiles at when he stops and adjusts his bowtie so that it’s straight -- opens it for him. Once outside, Bucky sucks in a deep, contented breath of cold, winter Manhattan air and lets it out with a soft grin. God, he’s on top of the world and knows it as he gets into his Ferrari and drives to work. 

Stark Industries is one of the most lucrative companies in the financial world. What started off in the 40s as a weapons making company by one, Howard Stark, has since flourished and cornered the market in the medical and clean energy business run by his son, Tony Stark. And Bucky, just a few months shy of 33 years old, is proud to say, has helped triple those profits over the past seven years as the youngest vice president the company has ever had. 

“Good morning, Frank,” Bucky greets the security guard at the building when he gets through the revolving doors. “Can you believe that game last night?” 

“They’re the Giants, Mr. Barnes,” Frank laughs. “They’ll surprise us!” Bucky taps the desk with a laugh as he walks by. “Just you wait!”

People get on and off the elevator with him as Bucky takes it to the top floor of the building. Every one of them greets him by name and Bucky politely says hello back. Some of them he knows, some of them he doesn’t.

When he reaches his floor, Bucky’s immediately greeted by the receptionists -- he knows the one in the middle by name, the others haven’t worked here long enough -- and a big tray of muffins on the front desk to which he helps himself to two. 

“James Barnes!” 

The warm, friendly voice calls out to him just as Bucky takes a huge bite of the first muffin. Mouth full, he turns to see the president of the California office. Bucky smiles, crumbs flying from his lips. 

“James Rhodes,” he greets, and hurries to swallow. “Rhodey! What’re you doing here?”

Rhodey lets out a hearty laugh and comes over with his arms out. Pulls Bucky in for a tight hug, giving him a clap on the back. 

“It’s Christmas Eve, Bucky,” he says. “Carol and I come in same time every year, remember?”

Oh, that’s right. Rhodey and his wife, Carol, come into town several times a year, but Christmas and New Years is one guaranteed trip. As Tony Stark’s best friend since college and president of his California branch, they always celebrate the holidays together. 

“Right.” Bucky nods and offers Rhodey his other muffin. “So then, you’ll be in town for awhile?”

“Till next week at least. We’re gonna see that new play on Wednesday.” Bucky grins. He saw it opening night. Carol will love it. “What about you? Will we see you tonight?”

“Tonight?”

Rhodey scoffs. 

“ _Christmas Eve_ ,” he reminds him again, nudging him with his elbow. “Tony’s place. Dinner. Ring any bells?”

“Oh yeah,” Bucky chuckles. Christmas Eve dinner. They invite him every year, the closest people he has to real friends, but Bucky always declines. “Uh, but, no. No, I’ll be…”

“Busy?” 

A pretty blonde comes up behind Rhodey, slipping an arm around his waist. That would be Carol, his wife. Bucky straightens up and gives her a sloppy salute. 

“Captain Danvers.”

She rolls her eyes at him, though Bucky will never resist the chance to salute an officer in the U.S. Air Force. 

“Bucky, always a pleasure.” Carol steps away from Rhodey to kiss Bucky’s cheek. “What’s this I hear about you missing dinner again this year?” 

Bucky holds in a chuckle. Every year they go through this. Between these two and Tony and his wife, he’ll be pestered all day about dinner tonight. It’s not that Bucky doesn’t _want_ to go or share the company for the evening. It just feels wasteful. While so many people are doing the family thing, he can be getting so much more work done. Good business. And that’s what Bucky’s good at. 

“I tell you what,” Bucky says as he starts towards the nearest conference room. “After this deal goes through we’ll get dinner at La Grenouille, my treat, okay?”

“I’m taking that as a promise, young man!” Carol shouts after him.

“And you don’t break a promise to Captain Carol Danvers, Bucky Barnes!” Rhodey follows up.

Throwing his arm up over his head, Bucky grins and waves. Bucky’ll have to remember to call the restaurant to make those reservations. It’s a busy time of year, but he’s a special customer. They’ll squeeze him in. 

Just before he turns again, Rhodey and Carol look happily at each other and share a kiss. The way they look at each other, all cozy and warm, right as Carol adds a quick peck to Rhodey’s nose, it has Bucky slowing down to watch for a moment. He’s far enough away now that he can no longer hear them, but whatever Rhodey says to her makes Carol laugh. Rhodey smiles at his wife and then wraps an arm around her waist to pull her close to him as they make their way down the hall, greeting people as they do. 

Bucky watches them until they disappear, his heart behaving strangely while doing so. A few hollow beats mixed in there with his normal ones. His phone buzzing in his pocket puts his heart back in working order. Bucky has a job to do. In the next few days he’s going to be making corporate history if he can make this deal go through. Opening up a business relationship with one of the richest export companies in the world who’s never partnered with an outside company is no easy task. If anyone is the man for the job, it’s him. 

“Good morning, good morning, good morning,” Bucky greets as he bursts into the conference room with a sly grin and a deep inhale. “What is my mission, I am ready to comply.”

All around the room there are people bustling about, but the second he walks in, everyone stops. There’s silence for about three seconds until everything picks back up again -- doubletime. A dozen voices are saying two dozen different things. This one needs this taken care of and that one is sure that this stock is going to crash and if they don’t barter with this company that company with back out. Bucky lets it all wash over him, takes it all in with a grin before putting his hand up and taking total command of the room in that one gesture alone. 

This he knows. This he can do. He’s been doing it for a decade and, goddamn, he’s really freaking good at it. 

These days are more hectic than normal, with his reputation riding on the biggest deal in history going off without a hitch, but it’s just business. Numbers and people, and Bucky’s good with both as throughout the day he calmly moves from various conference rooms to corner his office to return calls or make calls or even purposely avoid calls so that people will have to call him back. His assistant, Darcy, reminds him to eat lunch after ordering Sushi for him -- she knows him well enough she doesn’t need to ask him what he wants -- and Bucky has a few bites while on a conference call. 

Bucky’s still pumped and energized and raring to go even by the sixth meeting of the day. Outside, golden rays blanket over the city -- the sun setting and glistening off silver rooftops. On the streets down below, people carry bundles of goods -- presents and treats and foods. Silver bells and mists of cold, winter air and holiday cheer that circles about the city while putting an extra skip in people’s steps and maybe a lighter smile on their faces. 

And up on the top floor of Stark Industries, the youngest vice president in Stark Industry history is engaged in yet another meeting that doesn’t seem to be ending any time soon. 

“If these shares fall anywhere below 43 we’re in trouble with the stock valuation,” Bucky’s saying to all those still left with him there at the office. “So for god’s sake, _please_ , watch what you say to our international customers.”

As Bucky continues, the man in the seat he’s standing next to, an executive named Bruce Banner, sighs as he doodles on his tablet instead of taking notes on what Bucky’s saying. Bruce is a good guy, always well-mannered and respectful, but, in Bucky’s opinion, just isn’t aggressive enough to do what needs to be done, as though he’s afraid if he lets go he might turn into some unstoppable monster. Right now, the man got at least a half a dozen empty cans of diet Cokes in front of him, and even though Bucky’s talking about some pretty important things, Bruce looks to be in another world. 

“Penny for your thoughts, Bruce,” Bucky says after a few more seconds of Bruce’s doodling. 

Fumbling with his stylus enough that it falls from his hand, Bruce jumps a half an inch out of his seat the second his name is said. Like a kid caught red-handed, he gapes at Bucky and then looks back at the screen where he’s been drawing a Christmas tree. 

“No, I mean…” He looks back up at Bucky. “I’m sorry, Mr. Barnes, it’s just…” Bruce smiles softly. “It’s Christmas Eve. I promised Betty and the kids I’d be home for dinner and it’s already after six.”

Bucky turns from Bruce and looks out the windows. Huh. When did it get so late? He glances back at the rest of those in the room with him, some of them, like Bruce, looking at him with hopeful eyes, and lead twists inside his stomach. 

“I…” Bucky sighs and braces himself against the table. “Look, I know it’s Christmas Eve. Do you think I _like_ working on Christmas Eve?”

“Well, no…” Bruce starts to say. He cuts himself off with a soft chuckle. “I mean, actually, I dunno. Maybe.”

Bucky laughs and concedes to that with a nod. Pats Bruce softly on the back and begins walking around the conference table. 

“Okay, okay. Fair enough.” Bucky gives his attention back to his employees. “I know most of you have families and you want to be with them tonight. And maybe I have a bit of tunnel vision this holiday season, but in two days we’re going to announce one of the biggest deals in US corporate history and when an opportunity like this comes knocking at your door you _don’t_ tell it to wait until _after_ the holidays, do you?”

“You’re right, Mr. Barnes, I’m sorry, I--”

“No, I don’t want you to be sorry, Bruce, I want you to be _excited_.” Bucky pauses and grins at Bruce who’s watching him carefully behind thin rimmed glasses. “December 26th. On December 26th there’s going to be so much money floating around here it’ll be like Christmas everyday. Bruce, you said Betty’s always wanted to take the kids to Rome, right?” 

Bruce’s eyebrows pull in. “Uh… yeah. How’d you--”

“Well, here you go,” Bucky interrupts, not bothering to tell him that he remembers things when his employees talk. “This is your chance to plan for that. Maybe you’ll be late for dinner, but you’re gonna give your wife and kids _everything_ they want this year. Every trip, every concert, every spa day, every annoying little gadget that you’ll have to replace next year when a new one comes out, and you wanna know why?”

“Um.” Bruce shakes his head. “No, why?”

“Because _my_ gift, to _all_ of you...” He gestures to everyone there. “Comes with ten zeros at the end.”

The room fills with chuckles and Bucky can see immediately that while they’re still in a hurry to leave, he’s got their attention back. He hasn’t said anything yet about tomorrow afternoon’s emergency strategy meeting. They’re not gonna be happy with him, but sometimes he needs to be the bad guy to make them all the money they take _home_ to the families they’re all so anxious to get to. 

“I’ll have you guys out of here in an hour, okay?” he says. “Just gimme an hour and you’ll be on your way.”

“You’re right,” Bruce agrees. “I’m focused. I’m-- _we’re_ \--” He pauses and waits for everyone to agree. “We’re here.”

“Great. You guys are the best.” Bucky gets right back to business. “Everyone scroll to page twelve.”

Just as he promised, Bucky has them out of there within the hour. A twinge of guilt pokes at his insides when he sees Bruce with a pile of wrapped gifts under his arms telling his assistant that he’s gone already as she attempts to deliver messages. Bruce even requests that she call home for him to tell his wife that he’s on his way. 

“Darcy!” Bucky exclaims. There aren’t very many people left up there and Darcy’s desk is only halfway down the hall from where he’s standing. Still, Bucky twirls on his feet and heads over there. “Do me a favor and send a gift basket to the Banner house, would you?”

Darcy flicks her eyes up at him and rests her chin in her palm. “Rush delivery, Boss?”

“Yes. And the good one, not the crappy one.” The good one will have gift cards that the whole family can use. “Oh, and, uh, send out that email I had you type up.” 

She’s already typing in the order for the gift basket to be sent to Bruce’s house. It’ll be delivered by tomorrow afternoon. Bucky’s picked up the pile of mail sitting on her desk. Most of it is junk.

“Would that be the email that says we all need to be back here tomorrow at noon?” she asks. “On _Christmas_?”

“That’s the one,” Bucky replies, paying closer attention to the invoice he’s going over than to Darcy. “Did you call my sister?”

“Becca is disappointed, Boss. Said Mom’s gonna be, too.”

Bucky sighs and doesn’t comment on his family’s response to him cancelling on spending Christmas with them in Indiana. He’d told them last week already that this was a possibility. Still. Bucky pulls out his phone and shoots a text to his sister apologizing for having to cancel and then sets a reminder to call them during the day tomorrow.

He stuff his phone back in his pocket and glances at Darcy. She’s eyeballing him. “C’mon, I rearranged everything to make sure you didn’t have to stay late any nights of Chanukah.”

Darcy rolls her eyes at him. Out of all the assistants Bucky’s gone through, Darcy’s been the best. She may have no problem telling him what’s on her mind or what she thinks of his decisions, but she makes him laugh and gets the job done. He’s also never had one telemarketer slip through in the three years she’s been working for him. 

“Still making me come in on Christmas when my boyfriend’s family does the Christmas thing,” she remarks.

“Ah, that’s right,” Bucky sighs and takes a seat at the edge of her desk. “The infamous intern you swept off his feet. What’s his name again?”

“Ian,” she reminds him. Does something on her computer and turns back to him again. “And it’s supposed to be a big deal that his family invited me for this thing, y’know.”

“I’m not keeping you here _all_ day,” he assures her. “Just a few hours in the afternoon, you’ll be gone by four at the latest. And anyway, didn’t you say something about your friends Jane and Thor inviting you two on that Norwegian cruise?” 

Like Bruce earlier, Darcy’s eyebrows pull in as she nods. Why is it so shocking to people that Bucky takes an interest in their personal lives?

“I _do_ pay attention,” Bucky comments. He pulls something out of his jacket’s breast pocket and places it on the desk. “Because you’re so good to me.”

Eyeing him as though she suspects him of cheating her out of a winning hand of cards, Darcy never takes her gaze off of him. Not until she’s actually looking at the two cruise tickets Bucky got for her and her boyfriend aboard the same ship their friends will be on. 

“Holy shit, Boss,” she mutters. “Is this… how’d you…?”

“Perks of the job.” He smiles as she continues to glance between him and the tickets. “Go on. You can say it. I’m the best boss ever.”

“You’re somethin’ alright,” she laughs. “Thanks, Boss.”

Bucky taps his cheek. “Gimme some sugar.”

“How ‘bout I slap you with a lawsuit?”

“How about you gimme my messages?” he counters. “And then you can get outta here?”

“Deal.”

“Great.” 

Bucky slips off the edge of Darcy’s desk and heads for his office as she reads off the calls he’s missed. His office is superb. Wall to wall windows, build-in bookcases, a private seating and bar area. Bucky has artwork hanging and all the finest furniture in there. The chair is even custom made just for him. He plops down in it and immediately starts running over files while Darcy talks.

“Reed Richards called,” she tells him. “Wants to know about the Fantastic Four Foundation.” Bucky nods. He’ll give him a call after this deal goes through. “And Justin Hammer called. He--” Bucky’s groan cuts her off and Darcy laughs. No one likes dealing with Justin Hammer. She doesn’t bother finishing with that and just crumples up the paper with the message and tosses it out. “Jean Grey called _again_.”

“Shit,” Bucky mutters. He waves his fingers out for that one. Important to call back the IRS accountant that could have the whole damn company audited. 

“And, a, uh, a Steve Rogers called.”

The air in Bucky’s lungs stop. Around him, his Manhattan office in the multi-billion dollar corporate building he works in fades away. Gone is the crisp scent of copy paper and the sounds of ringing phones and the feel of genuine Italian leather beneath him. It’s all replaced by stale coffee smells and staticy airport announcements. A pair of big, warm arms wrapped around him. A honey rich voice begging him to stay.

“Boss?” Bucky glances up, vaguely aware he’s looking at his assistant. “You okay?”

“Steve Rogers called?”

“Uh, yeah?” Darcy looks back at the message slip. “Do we _know_ Steve Rogers?”

Bucky leans back in his seat. His heart is pounding, head spinning. Even his palms are sweaty. It’s beyond ridiculous to have such a reaction to a name. Steve Rogers. 

“Yeah, he was… my college boyfriend.”

“Your _what_?” Darcy exclaims. 

“I almost married him,” Bucky says absently. He even touches his ring finger. Steve Rogers. The only one he’d even considered spending his life with. “He didn’t want me to go to Russia. I even considered staying. I almost… I almost came back the day after I got there.” 

“This is…” Darcy shakes her head. There’s a big smile on her face. “This is unbelieveable. You mean to tell me you almost got married? _You_?”

“Yes, Darcy,” Bucky grumbles. “I’m not made out of ice, you know. I _have_ had relationships. Or well...” He shrugs. “One serious one anyway.”

“Yeah, _way_ serious! For god’s sake, Boss, you were gonna _marry_ him!” Darcy walks around his desk and snatches up the phone. “I’m getting this guy on the line.” 

There’s some sort of strange, ethereal fog floating through Bucky’s mind as Darcy goes through the careful motions of dialing the number. A pair of bright blue eyes and a happy smile look at him. Bucky even grins to himself. Steve Rogers. A warm, pleasant sensation rivers through his whole body. It then occurs to him that eleven years has gone by since he’s last seen those blue eyes and that happy smile. Bucky lunges forward and slams his fingers down to hang up.

“No, don’t,” he says. 

“Are you _crazy_?” Darcy pushes Bucky’s fingers away from the base and starts to dial again. “There’s no way you’re not calling him.”

“You _do_ know I’m your boss, right?” Bucky asks and ends the call again. “Don’t call him.”

“Oh, come on! You almost _married_ this guy and you’re not even a _little_ curious to find out why he’s calling you?”

If Bucky answers that, he just might find himself on the phone with Steve Rogers in seconds. Lucky for him, the doors to his office fly open before he gets a chance to even lie. 

“Ho, ho, ho!” Tony Stark comes waltzing into the room with a Santa suit on. An Armani Santa suit he probably had made for him. His wife, Pepper, is rolling her eyes behind him. Bucky laughs at the pair of them. “Seven thirty on Christmas Eve and Bucky Barnes is still at his desk. What a Hallmark moment.”

“What can I say?” Bucky laughs. “I live for the job.” 

“You know what they say about all work and no play?”

“Yeah.” Bucky pushes away from his desk and goes over to greet his bosses. Tony might own the company, but Pepper is the president of the New York division. “It makes me a rich boy.”

“Your wit astounds me,” Darcy mumbles from over by Bucky’s desk.

Ignoring her, Bucky laughs as Tony embraces him in a tight hug. Slaps his back and even kisses him on the cheek. When he moves away, Pepper comes over and hugs him, too. She’s stunning, as always. Not over the top like Tony, but simply dressed in a gorgeous black dress. 

“Bucky, honey,” Pepper says. “Please, tell me you’ll come to dinner. Get out of this office for a while, it’ll be _good_ for you.”

As predicted, Bucky’s gotten several messages asking about the same thing throughout the day. Between texts and emails and even missed calls, no one has let him forget that they’re all getting together for dinner tonight. Rhodey and Carol even stopped back in some time during the afternoon to badger him in person again. 

“I don’t think so, Pepper,” he tells her. “I’ve got a lot of work to get done.” Bucky smirks at the both of them. “That’s if my bosses _want_ this deal with Panther Inc. to go through.” 

Tony scoffs and jostles Bucky’s shoulder as he walks over to the bar and helps himself to the thirty year old bottle of Glen McKenna on the shelf. 

“And while we appreciate all your hard work, Bucky,” Pepper states. “You can take a break. It _is_ Christmas.” 

“Opportunities like this don’t take vacations, Pepper, do they, Tony?” Bucky asks. 

Over by the bar, Tony doesn’t quite answer that. He simply lifts his glass of Scotch up to Bucky and then brings it to his lips, smacking them and sighing contently after he takes a sip. 

Pepper, placing a hand over his arm, says, “Everyone needs friends, Bucky.” 

Completely scandalized by the assumption, Bucky tosses his head back and huffs. 

“I _have_ friends!” He waves between them and Darcy. “What do you call you guys?”

“Bosses and an employee,” Darcy remarks. “Speaking of which…” She straightens up. “Mr. Stark.” Tony gives her his attention, but Darcy shakes her head like she’s changed her mind. “No.” She looks at Pepper instead. “Ms. Potts, if an ex-fiance,” Oh no, “from, like, a decade ago calls up unexpectedly, wouldn’t you _at least_ wanna know what he wanted?”

Bucky should’ve seen this coming. Silently, he pinches the space between his eyes and drops back down in his chair again. 

“Were you engaged, Darcy?” Pepper asks.

“Oh no.” Darcy crinkles her nose like the idea is absurd. “Not _my_ fiance.”

“He wasn’t _actually_ my fiance,” Bucky grumbles. “We were never _really_ engaged.”

“ _Hold_ on a second!” Tony shouts. Holds his hands up as though he’s suddenly in charge of directing a large crowd of traffic. “ _Who_ were you never really engaged to?”

Bucky shakes his head. “No one.”

That hurts. Burns his throat as the lie he doesn’t really mean to even say comes out. Steve Rogers was never just a no one. Still isn’t. 

“Steve Rogers,” Darcy answers for him. “His college boyfriend.” 

Eyebrows shooting up, Tony gives him something of a curious, albeit impressed, smirk. “ _Boyfriend_? I didn’t know you were--”

“Yeah, alright,” Bucky interrupts whatever assumptions are being made on his sexuality. “It doesn’t matter. That was eleven years ago.” 

“So, what happened with this mystery almost-fiance of yours?” Tony asks. “I gotta hear this story.”

Leaning over his desk, Bucky snatches up the closest pen and starts making nonsensical patterns on the edge of the yellow notepad. He sighs.

“There’s nothing to tell,” he mutters. 

“You almost _married_ him,” Tony insists. “There’s more to it than that.” 

Bucky drops the pen with another sigh and looks up into three pairs of very interested eyes. Not that Bucky himself is very interested in rehashing a decade’s old story, but if he doesn’t give them _something_ they’ll never drop it. 

“It’s nothing, really. We were kids. I got the internship in Russia, he’d gotten a scholarship to Columbia’s law program. Neither of us were even finished with our Master’s yet.” He shrugs. “We were at the airport, he begged me not to go. I almost didn’t.”

Darcy chimes in with, “He even almost came back after he got there.”

Making a mental note never to tell Darcy anything ever again, Bucky grabs a rubberband and starts rolling it around his fingers. For some reason, he feels the need to keep his hands busy. 

“You didn’t though?” Pepper asks. 

Bucky shakes his head. “We tried the long distance thing, but…” 

No one else in the internship had any significant others and any distractions just held him back from success. One wrong move and he’d lose the opportunity. Two months. That’s all it took for Bucky to decide he needed to focus on work and only work. The thought turns his stomach. Reliving that phone call is not something he ever wants to do. 

“So, you ended things?” Pepper asks. 

“I mean…” Bucky releases a nervous chuckle. “It’s… y’know… we were kids. Things were… complicated.”

“Okay, so, you broke his heart.”

Pepper says it without any reservations. Though it makes it hard for Bucky to breathe, it’s just the truth. There’s no denying that that’s what he did, no matter how much Bucky wishes he could. 

“It was the hardest thing I ever did,” Bucky admits, his voice hushed and barely even his own. “I’d never want to hurt him again.”

“And that’s why you won’t let me get him on the phone now?” Darcy asks. 

“I wouldn’t want to mislead him,” he says. “It’d be wrong.”

Darcy scoffs. “You are so full of yourself, you don’t even _know_ if that’s why he’s calling.” 

While she might have a very valid point, it’s just not a chance that Bucky wants to take. If the reason for the call is lonely Christmas nostalgia, reaching out to the one that got away, Bucky will do whatever he can to avoid any more heartache. 

“Look--” Bucky plucks the paper with Steve’s number out of Darcy’s hand and crumples it up. “It was a long time ago. Let the past stay there.” He tosses the ball of paper into the garbage. “I took the road less traveled.” Bucky holds his arms out with a proud grin. “And look where it’s taken me!”

“So,” Tony says as he puts an arm around Pepper. “You’re a man with everything… and nothing.” He gives Bucky a sly grin. “My mentor, Ho Yinsen, said that to me fifteen years ago right before I had the chance to enter a contract with the military which would’ve turned a profit that _tripled_ Stark Industries yearly income.” 

Well, that’s one story Bucky’s never heard, which is unusual since Bucky’s pretty damn well verse in all deals -- good or bad -- in the past two decades that have gone on in Stark Industries’ history. He’s almost not quite sure how that pertains to the nugget of wisdom Tony seems to be trying to bestow upon him.

“Really,” Bucky says. 

Tony nods. “That’s right. Know what I did?”

The obvious answer to that would be that he didn’t go through with the deal. Bucky would know if he did. But clearly there’s another answer that Tony’s looking for, so Bucky just shakes his head with a shrug. 

“I went to Christmas Eve dinner, instead,” he tells him. Presses a kiss to Pepper’s cheek. “And never looked back.”

Smiling, Pepper turns enough so that she can really kiss her husband. While the two of them make a strange, unique couple, Bucky’s noticed over the past few years just how devoted they are to one another. Though Tony can can seem careless and wild, even, at times, selfish and completely wrapped up in his own world, it’s just not true, and Pepper is living proof of that. As much as he loves this company, Tony would give it all up for her, Bucky has no doubt of that. Her no-bullshit and cutthroat attitude has not only made for an excellent president of the company, but also a counter to Tony’s behavior. She’s also so damn sweet and tender it’s nearly impossible not to care about her. 

And they love each other. If the way they look at each other isn’t enough, the fact that Tony’s got his wedding band _tattooed_ onto his finger probably is. Go big or go home -- that’s Tony Stark. 

“Yeah, okay, well, are we just about done discussing my love life?” Bucky asks. 

“Actually,” Darcy says. “I believe we’re discuss your _lack_ thereof.” 

Bucky rolls his eyes. “I believe it’s time for _you_ to go home and don’t _you two_ have a dinner to get to?” He waves them away. “I got work to get done!”

They do leave him then, after Darcy’s _see you tomorrow, Boss_ and Tony’s firm handshake and promise that he and Rhodey will keep bothering him, and Pepper’s kind hug and kiss and reminder that he really should come and take a break even _just for a little while, sweetie_. With some peace and quiet and seclusion, Bucky’s finally able to get some real work done.

He gets through emails and evening phone calls, even gets a chance to return that call to the IRS to avoid any tax calamities. Bucky checks the day’s DOW and compares stock values with other companies and ends up on the phone with representatives of T’Challa, the new president of Panther Inc., who inform him that he’s taken his wife and kids skiing in the Alps. As soon as Bucky hangs up the phone, he books a private flight. Looks like he’ll be spending Christmas in Switzerland. He’ll leave straight from the meeting tomorrow afternoon. 

At some point, Bucky’s stomach begins to growl. He compensates by grabbing a cup of coffee from the executive lounge. Too bad those muffins are gone. They were pretty good. When his head starts to hurt, Bucky pops two aspirin and realizes he should probably turn the lights on in his office. He barely even noticed the sun had set all the way. 

By the time Bucky’s eyes get blurry and start to burn, it’s almost ten o’clock. He needs to take a second to stretch out his neck and back after sitting for so long. Out in the halls, the only light comes from the emergency exit signs that cast eerie cones of illumination throughout the office. Bucky turns away and looks out at the city below. 

Christmas Eve slows the streets down, but only slightly. Swirls of steam dance out of covered manholes, temporarily cut off by driving cars. People roam the blocks, bundled up in their holiday bests. Even from up here, Bucky can see so many of them holding hands or linking arms as they go from place to place. Because they have places to be. 

Switching off his computer, Bucky checks his email on his phone one last time before shoving it in his pocket and throwing his jacket on. Once he makes sure he’s got the files he can go over again at home, he tosses them into his briefcase and calls it a night. 

“G’night, Paul,” Bucky says to the night security guard as he passes through the lobby. “Have a Merry Christmas.” 

“Mr. Barnes,” Paul replies. “I didn’t know you were still here! You should have called down, I would have had your car pulled around for you.” 

“Um.” Bucky looks out the glass doors he’s headed for. “You know, it’s a nice night. I think I’m gonna walk home anyway.” 

“Very good, Mr. Barnes. I’ll have the car brought back to your building by morning.”

Bucky thanks him and once again says goodnight as he pushes through the revolving doors. The cold air fits around him like a silk sheet. Frost lines the sidewalks. Bright, intricate patterns that sparkle in the streetlights and crack like music under Bucky’s feet. Like Bucky suspected, it’s calm and peaceful out here -- a sweet scene of tranquil serenity as he takes his time walking home. Though he might prefer the warm nights of summer, there’s something almost magical about tonight. The stillness and the quiet, even as the world goes on around him. 

As he walks, enjoying the fresh, crisp air, Bucky’s pleasantly surprised by the soft flakes of snow that being to gently fall. He pauses on the nearest corner, finding himself alone to enjoy the moment. Movies often lie. Snow on Christmas is actually very rare around here, so Bucky takes his a suede glove off and holds his hand out, letting snowflakes land softly on his palm. He watches a few of them melt before smiling up at the sky and just feeling the snow brush along his face. Bucky even sticks his tongue out, catching a few flakes that way. 

It’s almost a shame that he needs to keep going. A part of him wonders what it’d be like to just be able to stand here in this moment forever. Where everything is just beautiful and peaceful. Alas, life calls, literally. A horn honks and Bucky’s phone buzzes and a group of laughing people interrupt the moment and pull Bucky back into the real world. 

About two blocks from his building, Bucky’s stomach begins to growl again, and he remembers that he hasn’t had anything to eat. There’s a cut of leftover filet mignon from his date last night in the fridge. A nice glass of Sangiovese sounds great with it, too. Although, actually, now that Bucky realizes he’s standing in front of an open convenience store, he might be in the mood for some eggnog instead. Just because he didn’t go to dinner to celebrate Christmas Eve doesn’t mean he can’t celebrate privately. 

Bells ring over the door as he pushes it open to go in. There’re a few people in the store already. Two clerks behind the counter who greet Bucky upon his entry. 

“Eggnog?” he asks.

They direct him to the fridges in the back and as Bucky goes over, the bells above the door jingle again and the young black man that enters the store is laughing excitedly, even as he shakes the snow out of his hair, the gold chains around his neck clinking together. 

“Yo, fellas, what’s good?” he exclaims as he strolls straight up to the counter. “Y’all do the lotto here, yeah? Y’all do the lotto?”

The two men behind the counter give him a long, hard look before finally nodding and the young man rubs his hands together with a big grin on his face. 

“Cool, cause I got a winn’a here, baby, I got a _winn’a_. Boom! Certified gold!” He’s reaching into the deep pockets of his baggy pants, adjusting his big, oversized jacket to do so. “I know lotto keeps a lotta brothers down, but not Eli Bradley, nah son, cause I be like” -- Bucky chuckles as the young man, Eli, apparently, does some quick punching motions with his hands as though he’s going to hit someone in a boxing ring -- “Bang on the lottery, know what I mean?!” The clerks jerk back though, clearly not amused by Eli’s good humor. “It’s all good, relax, son, relax. I gotchya, I gotchya, look at this, four numbers, check it out, bust it.” He flattens out a ticket on the counter for them to see. “6, 14, 16, 49. That’s a winn’a, son! Two hundred and fifty dolla’s! Chedda’ comin’!”

Doing his own little happy dance, Eli wiggles his hips and, quite smoothly, actually, moonwalks a bit to the side before hopping back in front of the counter again. The nearest clerk, however, slides the ticket back to him and shakes his head. 

“I’m sorry. Take it back. You drew in the lines.”

Shoulders dropping, Eli’s enthusiasm fades a bit. “What’re you talkin’ about, B?”

“You draw in the lines with a pencil!” he yells without even considering just checking the ticket for him. “I know about this trick, I’m not stupid!”

“Yo, busta, check the ticket!” Eli insists. “Check the ticket, son, check it!”

Bucky, standing there with his carton of eggnog as they continue to argue, wonders if he should say something. Is there a real reason these men are refusing Eli? Or is it just based on his looks? The idea that this young black man dressed like that can’t possibly be trustworthy. 

“No!” the clerk refuses again. “Get out!”

“Just check the damn ticket, son, you’re just lookin’ at me!” Eli’s voice is raising, his anger climbing with it. “C’mon, son, just check the ticket!”

The man behind the counter grabs the ticket Eli wants him to check so badly and flings it back at him. Eli just manages to catch it before it falls to the floor.

“You take that piece of shit ticket somewhere else!” the man yells. “Now get out of here!” He looks at Bucky. “Next customer in line!”

Squeezing his eyes closed, Eli clenches his jaw and slams his fists down on the counter which only causes the man to threaten calling the cops on him. Eli opens his eyes. And out of his pocket, pulls out a handgun.

“Oh my god,” someone cries from within the store as Eli drops the ticket back on the counter and presses the barrel of the gun to it to slide it back again.

“Let me see the ticket.”

Bucky doesn’t know where the words comes from. All he knows is that he doesn’t want anyone to get hurt and those words’re coming from his mouth as he steps towards the young man with the gun who has every reason to be angry right now. Eli slowly turns his gaze on him. 

“Was I talkin’ to you?” he asks. 

Bucky stops. If anything, at least the attention is on him now. 

“I can give you the money for it,” he offers. Heart pounding and glands swelling. His throat is so tight he’s not sure how he’s able to push the words out. “You can keep it and try another place.”

“What, you think I need your fuckin’ _charity_?”

“Okay.” Bucky breathes out slowly and thinks quickly. All of Eli’s earlier excitement seemed genuine enough. Bucky doubts he actually wants to hurt anyone, but that doesn’t make this any less terrifying. “Maybe I’ll buy it from you. We can make a business deal.”

Eli watches him for a second before pulling away from the counter and marching over, not really pointing the gun at anyone.

“Stupid ass white boy in a two-thousand dollar suit gets capped tryin’a be a hero, news at 11, is that what you wanna see? You wanna see Eli up in here? Just say the word.” Now he points the gun directly at Bucky and, for some reason, the only thing that flashes through Bucky’s mind is a pair of baby blue eyes and a warm smile. “Do you wanna die?”

“No,” Bucky whispers. “I’d really rather not.” He takes in a deep breath. “Look, I’m talking about a business deal, okay? I buy the ticket from you for two hundred dollars and take it to a store where the guys behind the counter aren’t racist pricks and I just made myself a quick fifty bucks. It’s good sense.” Bucky tries a quick shrug of his shoulders. “Just a business deal.” 

Eli’s eyes wander over him for a long, drawn out moment. With a gun pointed at him like that, for Bucky, it feels like hours. He even looks a little confused. Baffled, almost, by Bucky’s interference. Or proposal. Both even. But, amazingly, and, oddly enough, Eli flashes a big grin and laughs. He pulls his arm in, putting the gun away like it was never an issue at all and takes the carton of eggnog from Bucky’s grip.

“Alright.” He gives Bucky a nonchalant shrug. “Yeah.”

Letting out his long held breath in a moment of sheer relief, Bucky’s heart settles as Eli goes back to the counter for his lottery ticket. He even puts a few dollar bills down for Bucky’s eggnog.

“You blew it, B,” he tells the man behind the counter, he countenance soft and even sympathetic now. “You blew it. That ticket was real.” Eli sighs as though disappointed by something. “Damn, man, you had your chance, too. You could’ve had something _great_ , son.” He clicks his tongue and turns his eyes back to Bucky. “C’mon, Buck, let's get outta here.” 

Not knowing what else to do and just glad the whole ordeal is over with without anyone getting hurt, Bucky simply follows him out. Besides, he kinda wants his eggnog and did go through a lot just to get it. 

“How’d you know my name was Bucky?” he asks as he catches up to Eli.

Eli smirks. “I call all y’all Buck. Just got lucky this time.”

Though Bucky’s not really sure if that’s the truth or not, he really has no argument to make. While they walk, their steps crunching softly in the snow, Eli hands him the lotto ticket with Bucky’s eggnog. As promised, Bucky pays him two hundred dollars for it. Pocketing the money, Eli shrugs.

“Pleasure doin’ business with you, Bucky.”

Just like that, Eli goes to cross the street as though nothing unusual has happened at all. Bucky, who can’t be sure _what_ really just happened, stops him. 

“Hey! Hey, wait a second!”

To be honest, Bucky really didn’t expect Eli to stop at all, so he’s surprised when he turns back around and takes those few steps back over.

“Yeah?”

“Um.” Bucky blinks. “What… uh, what’re you carrying that gun around for? I mean, you’re just gonna do something you’re gonna regret.”

Eli chuckles. “You’re talkin’ to the wrong man about regrets, Bucky.”

Okay, well, maybe Bucky’s not exactly Mr. After School Special, but he’s got this young man’s attention maybe he can do something good. 

“Well, there’s gotta be, like, y’know, programs or something out there, right?”

Taking a step back, Eli’s eyebrows shoot up. An amused smirk grows on his mouth and he looks at Bucky as if he can’t believe what he’s just heard.

“Wait a second, wait a second.” He laughs to himself. “Are _you_ actually tryin’a _save_ me?” When Bucky does nothing more but stare, Eli laughs again. “This is hilarious.” He turns to the empty streets and shouts, “This man thinks I need to be _saved_ yo!”

Embarrassed and slightly put off, Bucky sighs. “Everybody needs something.”

Eli’s lips purse in a curious smirk. “Yeah? What do you need?”

“Me?”

Why would he ask _him_ that? Bucky’s the one who just bought a two hundred lottery ticket from him in cash. He even low-balled the price of the suit he’s wearing. 

“You just said it,” Eli says. “Everybody need something.”

“No.” Bucky shakes his head and shrugs. “Not me. I don’t need anything.”

An astonished look flashes across Eli’s face. “Really?”

“Yes,” Bucky insists. “I have everything I need.”

“Wow, it must be great being you.”

This is ridiculous. They’re getting way off topic. Bucky stopped Eli to help him, not talk about things that don’t even need discussing.

“Look, I’m not saying it’ll be easy,” Bucky tells him. “But with some hard work, some _really_ hard work, you can make something of yourself, too.”

That makes Eli laugh hard enough that he wipes at his eyes. He even pats his thigh a bit as though Bucky’s said the most hilarious thing ever. He looks over Bucky for a few seconds, eyeing him like he's thinking about something pretty important, and then shrugs with an accepting nod.

“Okay. If that's really what you want to go with." He claps his hands together and pauses as though waiting for Bucky to do something. When he doesn't, since Bucky's not really sure how this conversation has taken such a turn, he says, "Oh, I’m really going to enjoy this.” Eli’s smiling, big and happy, as he points a finger at Bucky. “You just remember that you did this, Bucky. You brought this on yourself.” He gives Bucky’s shoulder one hearty clap. “Merry Christmas.”

Eli is still chuckling as he crosses the street and leaves. Too tired and confused for anything else, Bucky gives up and just heads home. There’s still that steak in his fridge and now he _really_ wants a glass of this stupid eggnog. 

As suspected, there’re several pictures waiting for Bucky on his phone from shenanigans at the dinner he didn’t go to. Bucky chuckles as he goes through them, enjoying his late dinner and hard-earned eggnog. Despite the late hour, he gets a text from his sister around one in the morning which isn’t all the surprising since they probably went to midnight mass. With it is a picture of his twin nephews and, sure enough, they’re dressed up for church. They’re also making goofy faces and even though it makes Bucky laugh, he wonders how his sister and her husband manage two kids. Bucky shoots back a message apologizing again and requesting she let everyone know he loves and misses them. He wonders, after sending the message, when he started acting like this. When Christmas Eve saw him alone instead of with friends and family. When keeping people at arm's’ length felt safer than letting them get close. 

After such a strange, stressful night, Bucky decides he’d rather _not_ think about it, and that a nice bath in his soaker tub is just what he needs to unwind. A glass of wine while Mozart plays in the background and a hot compress rests over his eyes is an added bonus. 

It’s a quarter past two when Bucky decides to officially put the whole mess with Eli behind him and not think about it anymore. Sure it was scary and it could’ve gotten ugly, but nothing really happened. It ended up being stranger more than anything else, what with the odd way Eli behaved at the end of their interaction. But Bucky has more important things to worry about, like making himself Forbes Man of the Year for the second time and a shit ton of more money while doing it. 

He’s got a strategy meeting in the and a flight to Switzerland in the afternoon where he’ll spend Christmas doing what he does best, and Bucky falls into his huge, king sized bed and satin sheets with a smile on his face.


	3. A Glimpse of the Holiday Spirit

Bucky wakes to the sun hitting his face which is unusual since he knows he closed the automatic blinds last night, and even if he hadn’t they’d adjust so that the early morning light wouldn’t disturb him like this. Yet, right now, streams of light are pouring in, dancing across his closed eyes and trying to force him awake before he needs to be. Stranger than that is the heaviness upon his chest. It’s almost difficult to breathe. Even more difficult to move. He briefly wonders if those are signs of a heart attack and instead decides it can’t be -- he doesn’t have time for a heart attack.

This morning’s emergency meeting about Panther Inc. needs to go off without a hitch. The world isn’t going to wait for him just because he has a heart attack and Forbes Magazine certainly doesn’t have time room naming someone who succumbs to a little bit of pressure man of the year. 

Bucky tries to stretch. Realizes he’s shoved at the edge of the bed instead of the middle of it. His neck is sore, too. He must’ve had a rough night without even realizing it. Bucky opens his eyes. Looks up at his ceiling. No… _not_ his ceiling. And just like that the reason for the discomfort becomes clear. The pressure on his chest, the difficulties moving -- it’s because of the person draped over his chest. 

“What the fuck?” Bucky grumbles, eyes wide as they take in the strange room he’s woken up in. He quickly backtracks his night -- work, store, Eli. Did he get drunk after that? Hook up with someone? Go back to the guy’s place? Holy… shit. _Guy’s_? “What the… what the _fuck_?” 

_Shit_ , Bucky can’t even _remember_ the last time he’s hooked up with a guy let alone gone back to _his_ place to do so. A shitty place at that. Cluttered bedroom, ugly yellow walls with splotches of other colors across it and gift boxes piled up next to the bed, rolls of wrapping paper standing in the corner, clothes just strewn over anything they’ll land over. There’s an old desk on the other end of the room with art supplies and books and papers all over it. A dresser with more clothes folded on top of it, the top drawer open slightly and a sock hanging out of the corner. 

Where the _fuck_ is he? What in god’s name did he _do_ last night? Is he hungover? He doesn’t… _feel_ hungover. No headache. No dry mouth. His stomach feels fine. 

Trying to get a better look at the guy sleeping over him, Bucky lifts his head as much as he can without moving the rest of his body. All he can see is a head of blonde hair and a mass of back muscles. Bucky drops his head back down. 

Okay. Okay, he can… deal with this. Bucky’s one of the youngest, most successful executives on Wall Street for Christ’s sake. He can handle sneaking out of some random stranger’s home. All he needs to do is _slip_ out from under him and--

Bucky’s heart leaps into his throat when the door flies open. It then flattens to his stomach and falls to his feet when a little girl comes charging into the room with a smaller little boy waddling in behind her.

“Papa!” she shouts, and much to Bucky’s horror, hops right up onto the bed and starts bouncing on the mattress. “Daddy! Get up! Get up, get up, get up! It’s Christmas!”

Heart pounding and head spinning -- do these kids not realize Bucky’s _not_ supposed to _be_ there? -- Bucky’s body locks in place, frozen in shock and utter surprise, as the body sleeping over his chest huffs out a laugh and a tired groan and begins to stir. 

“Okay, okay,” he chuckles. “We’re coming.” 

He lifts up. And Bucky actually almost falls out of the bed, quite possibly taking the kids with him when he sees who he’s in bed with. 

Steve Rogers.

His hair is cut a little differently -- shorter and wisped up away from his face instead of shaggy like it used to be -- and he’s got a bit of light facial hair, neat and trim around his lip and chin, but it’s definitely Steve Rogers.

Steve fucking Rogers. 

Bucky’s brains starts firing away a barrage of questions at him, each one similiar to the last. Why the fuck is he in bed with Steve Rogers? When the fuck did he get in bed with Steve Rogers? Where the fuck is he with Steve Rogers? How the fuck did he end up with Steve Rogers? Who the fuck are these kids hopping up onto the bed with him and Steve Rogers? What the fuck is going on here with Steve Rogers and these fucking kids?

Before Bucky can even contemplate an answer to even _one_ of those questions that keep running through his very confused brain, Steve leans in and casually presses a kiss to his cheek. Just does it. Like it’s nothing out of the ordinary. Bucky’s too stunned to even think to move away to keep him from doing it.

“Merry Christmas, babe,” Steve says in a sleep heavy voice as he pulls the little boy onto his lap and nuzzles a kiss to his cheek. “Mornin’ kids. You think Santa came?”

The kids are shouting. Steve is talking. The kids are bouncing. Steve is laughing. The little girl is yelling about Santa. Steve is telling her to be patient. 

And Bucky…

Bucky is just sitting there. 

Sitting there in a strange room with Steve Rogers and two little kids on Christmas morning and clearly having a nervous breakdown or mental breakdown or a breakdown of some sort while the kids shout and Steve laughs and indulges their noisy behavior and Bucky has the urge to cover his ears but he’s far too stunned to do anything beyond sit there and stare. Steve is saying things about getting a move on. Something about _grandpa’s gonna be here soon_ and the little girl’s asking if he’ll bring presents, too and… and…

A dream. That’s it… this is a dream. Because they were talking about Steve Rogers and that whole thing with Eli and there was a gun, and this is just Bucky’s mind throwing together some _what if_ scenario. A stale tv special during the holiday season since he’s missing the day with his family. But… wake up. That’s it, he just needs to wake up. There’re important things to do and none of them include being in this cluttered bedroom with Steve Rogers and two little kids. Nope. 

Wake up. That’s all he has to do. Just wake up. Wake up, wake up, _wake up_ , oh, _please,_ wake up -- why is he not waking up. Bucky even pinches himself. That’s how it works, right? It’s… not supposed to hurt though, is it? Pain means he’s awake. He’s… awake. Oh, dear, _god_ , this is happening, isn’t it?

Mind finally deciding to give him something to do, Bucky flies out of the bed, limbs tangling in uncooperative sheets that do their very best to keep him from moving. He grabs the first pair of sweats -- fucking _ugly_ red sweats -- and starts shoving his legs into them because _holy shit_ he needs to get the hell out of this hallucination and _fast_. He flings on an NYU sweatshirt and just before he can make his daring escape, Steve says something to him. 

“Pancakes, Bucky,” Steve says, and the second his name rolls off Steve’s lips, Bucky freezes.

“Huh?” It’s all Bucky’s brain can supply at the moment. 

Steve doesn’t seem perturbed by Bucky’s frenzy or lack of response or presence or any of this at all. He just pats Bucky’s thigh and repeats the request for pancakes as he bounces the little bundle of baby boy on his knee and smiles at the little girl who is now singing a very high and horrible rendition of Jingle Bells. 

“You promised.” He looks up at Bucky and gives him a very serious expression and maybe he’s feeling Bucky's pain after all. “And coffee.” Okay, maybe not. “ _Strong_ coffee.”

“Uh huh,” Bucky mutters. Then darts out of the bedroom and down the stairs -- cause apparently he’s in a _house_ with _Steve Rogers_ and two little kids.

Spinning around in a circle, _twice_ , Bucky gawks at the big tree with blinking lights in the living room he’s in, cluttered with presents and mismatched furniture and a brick fireplace with four stockings hanging from the mantel. On the end table closest to the tree is a plate with crumbs and a half eaten cookie on it and a glass with a little bit of milk left -- there’s even lip stains around the rim for added effect. There’s one of those cheesy ceramic villages spaced out over the mantel of the fireplace, and green and red rings of garland made out of construction paper strung across the open doorway that leads to a cramped dining room. Hanging on the walls are, along with _actual_ Christmas decorations, handmade ones and drawings. There's also family pictures including some of those two little kids on Santa’s lap. Those're taped around the fireplace. This place is so disgustingly domestic and looks like it threw up Christmas that if Bucky doesn’t get out of here quick he might turn into a Hallmark special.

Head swirling -- seriously what the _fuck_ is going on? -- Bucky dashes to the front door and _oh, thank god_ , there’re a whole bunch of ugly, cheap jackets hanging by the hooks there. Grabbing one, he flings it on and pulls opens the front door, stumbling to a halt in his escape from this nightmare when he finds a snow covered, suburban neighborhood. Picket-fences and welcome mats and mini-vans. 

“Oh, what the fuck?” he groans. “Where the _fuck_ _am I_?” More panic ripples down his spine. “My Ferrari,” he realizes. “ _Where’s my Ferrari_?!” 

Thinking quickly, Bucky glances back inside and right on the wall with the jackets is a nice little hook with keys hanging from it. Bucky grabs a set of keys and starts hitting the button -- for the shitty blue mini-van in the driveway. Great. Of course. 

***

The drive back to the city takes Bucky over an hour and a half, and that’s _not_ including the forty minutes it takes for him to find the freaking Long Island Expressway to get himself out of the damn town of all the way in east bumblefuck Long Island since the GPS isn’t working right in the shitty mini-van and Bucky is currently sans cell phone. He’ll send Steve’s van back with a service as soon as gets home and out of this ridiculous nightmare. 

Out of the first bit of dumb luck so far today, there’s no cars parked in front of his building and Bucky is able to pull right out against the curb, parking the mini-van with a screeching halt. Wanting nothing more than a hot shower and a cup of coffee from his gourmet brewer and some sleep before he gets to work for the meeting _he_ arranged, Bucky hops out of the van and rushes towards the building just as Carl is opening the door. 

“Carl,” he breathes. “Boy, are _you_ a sight for sore eyes. Listen, don’t worry about the van, I’m gonna have it--”

“Hey, buddy, you can’t park there,” Carl interrupts.

“I know, I know,” Bucky tells him. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I’m gonna have a service bring it--” Right before Bucky would head inside, Carl holds his hand out, stopping him from entering the building at all. “Carl, what’re--”

“Resident’s only, pal,” he says. “You gotta get that car outta here.”

Just staring at him for a second, Bucky refuses to believe that those words just came out of Carl’s mouth. Because no. No, absolutely not.

“Carl.” A tight, not really amused grin tugs at Bucky’s lips. “Don’t do this. I’m not really in a joking mood.” 

“And I ain’t joking. Now hit the road.”

“What the _hell_ , Carl? What is this? I’m James Barnes! I _live_ here!”

Carl scoffs. Says, “I don’t care what your name is, buddy. You don’t live here, you don’t come in here. Now get lost.”

A dark, humorless laugh climbs out of Bucky’s throat. Okay. Okay, he can take a joke. He’s not a total stick in the mud. Just because his best friend is his phone and the longest relationship he’s had over the past decade has been with his job means his completely devoid of _all_ human emotion. 

Bucky offers Carl a toothy grin and a good-humored finger wag. He even tries a get out an in-the-spirit laugh, but he’s not sure if he really musters it up properly. 

“That’s a good one, it really is. But I’ve had a pretty crazy morning and right now I’d _really_ just like to go upstairs to the penthouse I’ve been living in for the past five years and change out of these ridiculous clothes and get some sleep. So if you wouldn’t mind…”

But when Bucky once again tries to get around Carl and through the door so he can just go _home_ , Carl stops him.

“I do mind, actually.”

“ _Goddamnit, Carl_!” Bucky shouts. “This isn’t funny!”

“You don’t get outta here now Imma call the cops and _they’re_ gonna take you outta here _for_ me, you got it, pal?”

Fingers curling into tight fists, Bucky begins to back away. Whatever this is, all traces of fucked-up humor are official _gone_.

“ _Oh_.” Bucky points a shaky finger at Carl as he stumbles back towards the van. “You just wait until the homeowner’s association hears about this! You are _so_ fired.” Almost knocking into someone, Bucky spins around once, stumbles a bit, and continues ranting at Carl. “I just helped you make two grand and this is the thanks you give me!?” He bumps the corner of the van as he makes his way around to the driver’s side and the door sticks a bit when he tries to open it. “Just wait, buddy! You’re done!”

Trembling hands make heavy work of trying to get the key in the ignition. Once Bucky finally get it in, it makes no difference anyway. The damn engine just keep sputtering at him and won’t start. 

Bucky slams his hands against the steering wheel over and over again. Swears and yells and growls his irritation at the seats and rearview mirror, who takes a hit in his tantrum and doesn’t at all appreciate it. Every inch of Bucky’s body is a boil of childlike rage by the time he finally gets the fucking thing started and speeds away for the office. He doesn’t bother glancing back at Carl who stood witness to his wild act of stunning maturity. 

By the time Bucky’s pushing through the revolving doors of Stark Industries, he’s actually almost _late_ to the meeting. He’s trying to think of it as everyone else being early -- he’s sure he’s heard that in a Disney movie or something since he’s the one in charge -- but it’s not really working. Today needs to go off perfectly or all these months’ll be a fucking waste and every hour and minute of overtime will be for nothing and everything he’s promised his employees will have been a lie and, fuck, all the _money_ they’ll lose. Bucky’ll be lucky if Tony doesn’t kick his sorry ass to the curb. 

“Frank, you will not _believe_ the morning I’ve had,” Bucky says to the security guard the second he gets into the lobby. “Is everyone up there? Have they--”

“Hey, what’re you doing?” Frank asks. 

“Where’s Banner? Is Bruce here yet?”

“Mister, the building is _closed_. It’s Christmas.” Bucky halts right by the security desk, nearly tripping over his own feet to stare at Frank, the man he’s past by nearly every Monday through Friday for the past seven years. “You’re gonna have to come back tomorrow.”

Bucky gets as far as opening his mouth. No words come out. He needs to close it and try again. He sucks in a deep breath and pinches between his eyes. 

“Uh, Frank, why do I feel the need to remind you that I’m James Barnes?”

Frank stands up. Puts a hand on the phone. At least Bucky knows he’s ready to secure the building at a moment’s notice. Even from the company’s _own Vice President_. 

“I don’t care _who_ you are,” Frank replies. “I told you the building is closed.” 

Done -- _completely_ done-- with whatever worldwide prank is going on today, Bucky grinds his teeth and slams a fist down on the table. 

“James Barnes, Frank!” Bucky shouts. “Vice President of the whole damn company! Youngest executive _ever_ on Wall Street!”

He marches over to the directory up on the wall as he repeats his name and title for prosperity -- and since everyone but him seems to have lost their minds -- and points.

“See!” he yells. “Right there! Vice President! Bruce Ban--”

Only that’s not his name under the title of Vice President. It’s Bruce’s. And Bucky, drunk or high or maybe he hit his head _really_ hard, yanks his arm away and back peddles as though the name might bite him. The ground doesn’t feel like it’s holding him up anymore, even though Bucky’s still very much on his two feet. What the… what the _fuck_ is going on? 

“Have a good holiday,” Frank says, staring at Bucky with both pity and worry. Ready to do whatever’s necessary to get him out of there. 

Which is Bucky’s cue to leave before the cops are called, and given the shitty clothes he’s wearing and the whole lack of identification thing and because everyone has _conveniently_ decided to forget who he is on one of the most important days of his professional life, the cops’ll probably think he’s tripping on acid and toss him in the drunk tank for the day. Not exactly how Bucky wants to spend his Christmas so he stumbles back outside. 

Gone is the crisp, refreshing air from last night -- the tranquil, peaceful sensation that slipped over him like a cool, silk robe after a nice, hot shower. Now, the air around Bucky squeezes the breath right out of his lungs. Punches him right in the gut as his hand lands on the front of the mini-van to keep his balance cause he sure as shit just might fall over. He might even pass out if the world doesn’t stop spinning around him soon. Bucky’s stomach is turning so much he might even lose whatever’s in it. He’s fairly sure that’s the steak and eggnog he ate before bed last night, but, then again, he can’t be sure of anything anymore. 

Just when he’s sure things can’t get any worse -- _right, Barnes,_ that’s _always a good thing to think_ \-- a familiar engine echos off the buildings as it comes down the road. Like the soft purr of a tiger. Bucky lifts his head towards the sound. His face falls. 

Pulling to a stop just in front of him now is a Ferarri. No, not just _a_ Ferarri -- _Bucky’s_ Ferrari. Eyes bugging, Bucky’s spine snaps straight. 

“What the…”

Bucky leans forward to peer into the passenger side window. His mouth drops open when he catches sight of the driver, who wiggles his fingers in greeting. Jaw clenched, Bucky marches over and starts hitting his palm against the glass. Inside the car, is Eli, who smirks and lowers the window for him.

“That’s my car!” Bucky shouts.

Still grinning, and not caring in the slightest that he’s sitting in Bucky’s three hundred thousand dollar car, Eli flicks his eyebrows up.

“Hiya, Bucky.”

Outraged and infuriated, Bucky tries the handle only to find it locked. “You stole my car!”

“Now, I know this whole thing is probably really bizarre to you,” Eli says happily. “So why do you just hop in and I’ll explain everything to ya, okay?”

“Hop… hop in?” Bucky’s trembling. Head to toe _trembling_ , as his eyes wander from side to side. “You want me to…” 

“Come on,” he coaxes as if talking to a child. “Come on, Bucky.” 

Closing his eyes, and seeing no other choice in the matter, Bucky huffs out an infuriated breath and tries the door again. He just about ready to rip it off its hinges when Eli laughs. Since it’s still locked. Bucky glares at him.

“Funny,” he mutters when Eli presses the button and the lock pops up. Bucky quickly gets into _his_ car and slams the door shuts. Unlike last night, Eli’s dressed in expensive designer clothes and looks clean cut and even sings along in Italian to the opera blaring through the car’s speakers. “What the _fuck_ is going on?”

Before answering, Eli rolls the window up and glances back over at him. “You’re probably gonna wanna buckle up, Bucky. This thing _moves_.”

Shifting into first gear, Eli holds nothing back and peels away from there, the car kicking up a cloud of white dust behind it. 

Breaths backing up on him, Bucky attempts to quell his rising nausea and the constant trembling by counting to ten in his head. When that does absolutely nothing, and Eli begins approaching a speed that makes his stomach drop, he smothers his face in his hands. 

“What the hell is _happening_ to me?” he asks. “What is going on?”

Rather than answering, Eli passes over a small, brown paper bag.

“Here,” he says. “Breathe into this.” Bucky doesn’t question this advice. He just grabs the bag and immediately shoves it over his mouth, wheezing as he forces air in and out of his tight throat. “This kinda thing makes a lot of guys have to throw up, so if you gotta hurl, roll down the window. Don’t do it in here cause this is a _really_ hot car.”

“I know it’s a hot car!” Bucky exclaims. “I bought the car! It’s my car! You’re in my car! _My_ car!”

“Breathe, Bucky,” Eli reminds him, and Bucky puts the bag over his mouth again to continue breathing into it. “Try not to get so worked up, I mean, hell, you _did_ bring this on yourself.”

“Brought _what_ on myself?!” He flings the paper bag away. “I didn’t _do_ anything!”

Eli laughs and says, in a taunting, mocking tone, “I _have_ everything _I_ need. Does that sound familiar?” 

It only takes a half a second for Bucky to place the statement. That’s what he’d said to Eli last night after Eli repeated Bucky’s own question to him. Stunned outrage rushes through Bucky’s entire body, drowning him in sheer and utter disbelief. 

“You mean because you thought I was cocky I’m now on a _permanent acid trip_?!”

Eli jerks the wheel just in time to narrowly avoid slamming into the bus that’s just turned out in front of them. While Bucky screams and throws his arms up in front of his eyes, his heart leaping up into his throat, Eli just laughs. 

“The way you intervened in that store last night?” Eli says while Bucky continues his futile attempts to get a grip on this so-called reality. “ _That_ was impressive.”

“ _Impressive_?” Bucky cries. “ _I_ impress _you_ and you _punish_ me?” 

“No!” Eli rolls his eyes with a smirk as though Bucky’s misunderstanding is humorous. “This isn’t a punishment. You did a really good thing, Bucky. I mean, incredibly impressive, all the way across the boards, right up to the top of the Company--”

“Oh _god_ ,” Bucky interrupts. “I have no idea what the _fuck_ you’re talking about! Can you _please_ just _tell_ me what’s _going on_? _Who_ are you?”

“I told you! I’m Eli!” He flashes a saucy grin. Holds his hand out for Bucky to shake. Bucky, too baffled and disoriented not to, puts his hand in his. Eli takes a tight albeit friendly grip. “I work for the Company.”

“ _What_ company? What does that _mean_?” Bucky shakes his head over and over. Maybe he can rattle his brain back into place and put everything _right_ again. “What’re you, like, a… like an… an…” Oh fucking _hell_ this doesn’t make any sense, how can these words even be coming out of his mouth? “An angel or something?”

Bobbing his head, Eli gives his lips a stretch as though he’s running that through his mind. He then shrugs and nods, clearly finding the descriptor acceptable. 

“I guess that works.”

“ _Holy_ shit.” Bucky groans and sticks his head between his legs. “Then what… what _is_ this? What’s… what the hell is happening to me? Just… just, _please_ , tell me what’s _going on_ in _plain English_!”

“ _This,_ ” Eli practically singsongs, “is a glimpse.”

“A-- a glimpse?” Bucky grunts, and waits for Eli to go on but all he does is nod. “A glimpse of _what_?”

Eli shrugs a shoulder. “You’re gonna have to figure that out for yourself, and uh,” he chuckles, “from the looks of it, you’re gonna have plenty of time.”

Plenty of--? No. Oh, no, no, no. Bucky doesn’t _have_ time for this. Right now he’s supposed to be leading a strategy meeting and later today he’s supposed to fly to Switzerland. He has incredibly important things to take care of, none of which include being in some sort of _glimpse_ that has him driving a minivan back to Long Island.

“How much time?”

“However much time it takes.” He side-eyes him. “Which, in your case, is probably going to be considerable.”

“Okay, okay, look.” Bucky sits up straight and keeps his voice calm and steady, when, on the inside, he’s scrambling about trying to find something to hold onto for balance. “I just… I just want my life back, so what’s it gonna take? You wanna talk cash? How much?” Eli glances over at Bucky like _he’s_ the one who’s lost his mind. “Just… name your price. I’ll get it for you, however much you want.”

The laugh that bursts though Eli echos around the car and already dashes any of Bucky’s hopes that a bribe might actually work to get him out of this. 

“It doesn’t work that way, Bucky,” Eli chuckles. “And I can’t tell you why.”

“Why not?!” Bucky asks anyway. 

“Because _you_ have to figure this out for yourself.”

“Figure this out,” Bucky repeats through clenched teeth. “Figure this out. Figure out _what_?”

Eli shakes his head. “Just let it come to you.”

Rubbing his temples, Bucky sighs. “Alright, you know what? I don’t have time for this. I’m in the middle of one of the most important deal of my life!”

“Well, you’re in the middle of a new deal now, baby.”

The car -- _Bucky’s_ car, damn it -- comes to an abrupt and sudden stop. Without Bucky even realizing it, Eli’s taken him back to his office. Where that crappy ass minivan sits just waiting for him. Mocking him out there while it waits for him to get out of this car made out of his wildest dreams. Bucky throws a pathetic glance at Eli. But all Eli does is hand him a plastic bag. Inside it, is a silver bike bell. Bucky takes it out and even gives it a little trial ring.

“What… what is this? Is this a… a signal?” Bucky asks. “What, do I… do I ring this when I need you?”

“Now…” Eli gestures out the window. “You need to get out of the car.”

A hard, painful lump lodges in Bucky’s throat. It’s now painfully obvious that he’s not waking up from this any time soon. He’s stuck. He’s no longer James Barnes, Wall Street tycoon of Stark Industries. Wealthy, powerful, on top of the world with everything he ever needed. Now he’s… well, he’s not quite sure.

“But what do I…” Bucky whimpers. “What do I do?”

Placing a hand softly on Bucky’s shoulder, Eli gives him a calm, almost reassuring smile, and for just one heartbeat, Bucky thinks he might actually have enough sympathy to let him off the hook. 

“I’m sorry, Bucky.” Then again, maybe not. “But I have other business to take care of. You have to go now.”

“N-no. No, you… y-you did this to me.” Cold runs through Bucky’s veins. “You can’t… you can’t just… just leave me like this.” 

For a second or two, Eli just looks at him, his thumb tapping over the steering wheel of what _used_ to be Bucky’s car. Lip tucked under his teeth, he takes a quick look out the front window and then lets his gaze drift back to Bucky. Eli lets out a sigh and concedes with a nod. 

“Okay. Okay, how about…” He rubs his head. Looks like he might break a few rules to help Bucky out here, for which Bucky’ll be infinitely grateful for. “How about we take a walk. We’ll talk a bit. I’ll help you figure some stuff out, okay?”

An air of relief breathes around Bucky. He’ll take anything over having to get back into that van and playing the happy family man on Long Island. 

“Yeah, yeah okay.” He nods. Smiles even as Eli starts to open his door to get out with him. “Thank you. Thank you, Eli.”

“Sure, no problem, Bucky.” 

Bucky gets out of the car, glad he’s got a chance to talk some sense into Eli, this… angel, or whatever he is. If he can talk the president of a multi billion dollar corporation into merging with another at age twenty-five, then surely convincing some supernatural being to give him his life back shouldn’t be all that difficult. 

Only it’s going to be _extremely_ difficult to talk to Eli at all since the second Bucky closes the door behind him, he speeds away, leaving Bucky dumbfounded and flabbergasted. 

“Yeah,” Bucky mutters and nods to himself. “I should’ve seen that coming.” 

Of course he should have because it’s something he’d’ve done. Now he’s just standing there. By the minivan. With no other choice but to get in it. And go back. To that cluttered house with kids on Long Island. 

And Steve Rogers. 

***

The GPS in the minivan is pretty much useless, although listening to the staticy voice when it tells Bucky to make a right when he’s on an overpass is surprisingly tempting today. Okay, maybe that’s a little overdramatic, but the damn thing is no help once he gets back to the town he’s apparently supposed to live in in this new alternate reality. Plus… there’s really no other place for him to go. It’s either play house in this glimpse thing or… Bucky doesn’t even know. Live on the streets? Get locked up for spouting off nonsense about this not being real life? Yeah, somehow Bucky doubts that’ll make this thing end. So… Ronkonkoma, one hundred percent begrudgingly, it is.

 _Ronkonkoma_. Over an hour from the freaking city. Fuck, the only reason Bucky can even pronounce it is because it’s where Steve’s dad had his store. It’s also probably the reason he’s able to figure out which highways to take -- which are now filled with holiday traffic and slow him down and Bucky’s not sure if he’s more aggravated by the random stop and go or grateful for the delay -- to get back to the damn town.

Once he’s on the streets though, he finds himself terribly and hopelessly lost. Sure, the bill in the glove compartment has given him an address, but that does him no good when the GPS keeps freaking out and shutting on and off and randomly telling him to turn when there isn’t even a place to turn. Apparently, Steve is a little old fashioned cause there also happens to be maps in the center console. Bucky’s got the right one -- or, what he thinks is the right one -- spread out on the steering wheel in front of him as he tries to navigate the snow touched road. To be honest though, Bucky’s not really sure what he’s looking at. He doesn’t even know how to _read_ a map cause, seriously, who _uses_ maps anymore? 

“Oh, this is ridiculous,” Bucky groans, van stopped in the middle of the road. 

He drops his head back against the seat and rubs between his eyes. Checking the bill again, just to make sure he’s got the address right, Bucky peers out his window and the passenger window at the house numbers. Not even close. Or maybe he is. He has no fucking idea and now it’s almost three in the afternoon and he’s tired and hungry and he really just… well, he wants real life back, but he’ll settle for a hot shower and a good meal and bed. Which he has no idea if he can get _any_ of that, but he’ll never find out if he can’t _get_ to this fucking place. 

After another few minutes of driving around -- up and down blocks and he’s pretty sure he’s been the same three at least six times -- Bucky’s ready to scream. The second he spots a bunch of people who happen to be piling out of a house and headed to their cars, he stops. Tries to get the window down, but it sticks and Bucky grunts and needs to slam his finger down on the button. 

“Excuse me?” Bucky calls out, glancing at the envelope with the address on it. “Do you know where 616 Shield Ave--”

“Hey, look who it is!” The only man of the group shouts. Bucky immediately glances up. “Nat, look who I found!”

Over by the driveway, a redhead, Nat, presumably, turns and eyes Bucky with pursed lips. She snickers and shakes her head. There are two other women with them, and three kids that they’d all been in the process of getting into the van in the driveway before Bucky’d interrupted. The older little boy and girl are shouting for everyone to hurry.

“Well, there you are, stranger,” Nat says to Bucky. “Where the hell have you been?” 

“Bucky!” the brunette calls with the baby at her hip. “We’ve been wondering when you were gonna show up!”

The blonde, all wrapped up in a nice looking white peacoat, puts an arm around Nat’s waist and grins at Bucky. “Someone’s in trouble.”

“Auntie Nat!” the little girl is shouting before Bucky has a chance to wrap his mind around the fact that these people seem to know him. “Are you and Auntie Sharon coming for dinner?” 

As Nat, who, now that Bucky gets a good look at, looks oddly familiar, answers the kids, the guy is standing there, arms crossed and staring at Bucky with a strange, deep in thought look on his face. Bucky has the urge to tell him not to hurt himself and the thought of saying it feels right. As though he’s said it to him before. An inside joke of sorts and Bucky needs to shake the notion away. 

“Hey, uh, Laura?” he calls out as she continues loading the kids into the car. He’s still looking at Bucky in that same way. Like he sees something -- the _obvious,_ maybe. That Bucky’s _completely_ out of place. “Why don’t you and Sharon head on over and Nat and me will catch up?” 

That’s all the convincing they need and within another minute or so, these Laura and Sharon ladies have the three kids all packed up, give partings and good lucks to Bucky, and are waving out the van’s windows as they drive away. Which sees Nat and the thinking-hard guy stepping closer to the horrible van that Bucky’s in.

Both of them peer inside and give Bucky the once over. More than once. Inspecting him enough that Bucky feels the need to cringe away from curious eyes. 

“You look terrible,” the guy blurts out.

Nat slaps his shoulder with the back of her hand while Bucky looks over himself. He can’t really deny the claim. Ugly red sweats and an oversized sweatshirt. Jacket that’s probably been out of style for two decades. He hasn’t washed or shaved or brushed his teeth. Who the hell _knows_ what his hair looks like. 

Bucky jumps a little, damn near flinging the map that’s still sprawled out across the steering wheel away, when Nat opens his door. He didn’t even notice her come around the other side.

“Come on, James,” she murmurs. “Come on in for a drink.”

“Yeah, buddy,” the guy agrees, and Bucky really wishes someone would just says his name, it would freaking help a lot. “We’ll talk a bit before you head home.”

Home, meaning that house with Steve Rogers and loud kids. And since, at the current moment, that’s the only home anyone will recognize as Bucky’s, he kinda needs to get back to it, so going in for a drink with these two -- who… _do_ sorta feel familiar -- are probably his best bet. 

“Truth is,” Nat says as they head towards the house. “We kinda expected you.” The guy opens the front door and waves for them to go in. “Steve called earlier looking for you. Worried as hell, y’know.” 

Just like the house Bucky fled earlier, this one is drenched in holiday spirit. Big ol’ tree in the corner of the room with blinking lights around it and a pile of opened gifts stuffed under it. Garland strung around the banister of the staircase. Wreaths up on the wall. Ugly carpeting and wood paneled walls -- who _does_ that anymore? And pictures. Lots and lots of family photos. 

All Bucky can do is stare at it all, dazed and bewildered. At the mediocrity of the whole thing when less than twenty four hours ago he was on top of the world. _Almost_ quite literally. He feels sick. 

As they lead Bucky a little further into the living room, Nat moves right for the sectional sofa that’s _way_ too big for the room. There’s a yellow lab wagging his tail curled up on the recliner and the guy goes straight to him, chuckling.

“Brand new chair, huh,” he says. “Belongs to Lucky already, I guess, right, Buck?” 

The sound of his name pulls him out of the horrors of this suburban nightmare, only to realize he’s actually trapped within a suburban nightmare. Funny though, Bucky’s old college roommate used to sneak in dogs all the time and name them all Lucky. 

“Uh, yeah…” 

He’s not totally paying attention. Maybe something about a new chair so he mumbles that it’s nice, but what he’s really focused on is taking a peek at those photos. Maybe, if he can get an idea of what he’s dealing with, he just get this over with quicker and get _all_ of this over and done with and he can just get _on_ with his _real_ life. 

Most of the photos are of this guy’s family -- Laura, he guesses, and their three kids -- but there are others that have Bucky in them as well. He’s smiling in all of them. Looks bright and happy. Warm. The him in this world is obviously close friends with these people. He obviously goes to all these mundane events with them. Birthday parties and BBQs and even a… _bowling_ tournament? Oh, what _even_? This version of him is in a bowling league? His nose crinkles at the mere thought as more nerves skitter across his bones. How the _hell_ is he gonna pull this off?

“So…” Nat says from across the room. “Are you gonna tell us what’s wrong?” Concern laces her voice. The sort of concern that reminds Bucky of Pepper. These people must really care about him. “You okay, Bucky?”

About to answer with some bullshit _I’m fine_ comment, Bucky catches a glimpse of a picture of the three of them at a bar that he needs to get a closer look at. Because he recognizes it. He even remembers it being taken back in his Freshman year of college. And just like that, Bucky knows _exactly_ just why these two seem so familiar. He _knows_ them. He just hasn’t seem them in over a decade.

Eyes wide, Bucky spins back around and points at the guy. “Clint Barton!” 

They roomed together their first year, until Bucky’s grades qualified him for a single dorm. He looked different back then. Longer hair. Bigger hearing aids. Always wearing sweats and baggy -- usually purple -- t-shirts. Cool guy from day one. Clumsy and lazy as fuck, but the most reliable guy in the world. 

“And Natasha…” He snaps his fingers, remembering a time she’d slug him for forgetting her last name. “Romanoff!”

They met in a theater class. An elective Bucky took his second semester. They hit it off during a dance exercise. She looks amazing. Cut her curly red hair to a cute, shorter flip. She was always fierce as hell, but unshakably loyal once Bucky earned her trust. 

And now they both exchange a glance and look back at Bucky like he’s grown an extra head or two. Which makes sense, given there’s some alternate version of him in all these pictures of their family events up on the wall. As far as they’re concerned, _he’s_ the weird one here. 

“ _Yeah_ ,” Clint says. “Clint and Nat. That’s us.” He steps away from the dog and over to Bucky. “Why don’t you sit down, Buck.” 

Rather than put up a fight, even if he _does_ tense and jerk away from Clint when he puts a hand on Bucky’s arm, Bucky sits at the very edge of the couch. A few feet from Nat. Well, at least he _knows_ these people, even if he hasn’t had _any_ contact with them in more than eleven years. 

“What’s going on, Bucky?” Nat asks. 

“Uh…” He shakes his head. “I’m having… a… weird day.”

“Ah, y’know!” Clint exclaims. “I just read somewhere that the suicide rates practically double around the holidays.” 

Both Bucky and Nat glance up at him, Nat tossing her palms out at him in disbelief. Clint’s eyes go wide and although this is a horrible nightmare, at least Bucky knows _some thing’s_ are still the same. Like Clint’s foot-in-mouth comments. 

“ _Clint_ ,” Nat grumbles. “What the hell?”

“I’m sorry! I dunno why I said that. You don’t wanna hear that. That’s not what I--”

“Is it work?” Nat asks, interrupting Clint’s rambling. “Is work getting to you?”

Work. Oh, dear _God_ what is going on over there without him? Right now, Bucky’s missing out on his chance on being named Forbes Magazine Man of the Year for the second time because he’s _here_ in mediocre suburbia. 

“Uh… no.” He clears his throat. “I don’t think so.”

“Are you feeling okay? You’re not sick, are you?” 

“Um… well…” Other than in the head and living in this fake world where college friends somehow end up all living in the same town. What is this an ABC Family sitcom? “No. No, I’m not sick--did we all move here together or something?”

They exchange another concerned look and, this time, Nat leans over to place the back of her hand on Bucky’s forehead. It takes a great deal of effort not to lean away. 

“Come on, buddy,” Clint says softly as takes a seat next to Bucky and puts a gently arm around his shoulder. “Are you okay? You take off Christmas morning without a word to anyone, don’t tell anyone where you’re going. Are you in some sorta trouble?”

Bucky looks between the two of them. He’s scaring them, he can tell that much. A part of him almost wants to laugh. 

“We’re… friends?” he asks. “Still?”

“Talk to us, James,” Nat says. “You know we’re here for you.” 

“It isn’t…” Bucky looks back at Clint when he hesitates with this guess. “I mean… it isn’t… _Steve_ is it?”

A hard lump forms in Bucky’s throat as he looks down at his left ring finger. Right at the silver band he’s been desperate to ignore this whole time. There’s a knot tying harder and harder in his stomach, the light catching on the wedding band pulling it even more. Bucky looks back up at them, helpless and exhausted.

“Ah, you see!” Clint jostles him a bit. “It’s like we share a mind!”

“Steve. Steve is…” Oh, hell, he feels sicks. He can’t even muster up any feeling to his voice. “Steve is my husband.”

Nat smiles. “Just keep saying that to yourself over and over. Like a mantra.” 

Clint gives his back a friendly slap. “Hey, come on, this isn’t all that unusual. You fit the profile!” He stands and goes over to the case of water bottles stacked over by the door to grab one. Opening it, he hands it to Bucky, who’s damn shaky hands almost drop it and spill water all over his lap. “You’re in your 30s. House. Kids. Financial responsibilities. You start thinking… _this isn’t the life I dreamt about_!” Well, if _that_ isn’t the understatement of the fucking century. Maybe _once_ but not _now_. “Where’s the romance?!” Clint chuckles. “Where’s the _fun_?! The _adventure_?!”

 _I had_ _it_ , Bucky thinks as he takes a swing of that water and it burns his throat going down the wrong way. _Then Eli Bradley took it away for a lotto ticket and a goddamn carton of eggnog._

“But you got a great life, Bucky,” Nat picks up. “It might feel like every lingerie ad represents a life you can’t have, but you got a great husband and amazing kids and--”

“It… It’s j-just the… just the _two_ kids, right?” Bucky interrupts. The pictures on the walls are no good for that at all and helplessness descends upon him. “Just two?”

Laughing, Nat pats him on the shoulder and laughs as she stands and helps him back to his feet. Both of them loops arms with him and take him back outside towards that ugly fucking minivan. They still do have places to be and Bucky has been holding them up. Though, to be honest, Bucky’s pretty sure if they thought he needed more from them, they’d stay all day. It’s almost touching. 

“Look, I know sometimes it feels like you gave up the world,” Nat says. “But just think about what you got!”

“Yeah!” Clint agrees. “Just around the corner and two blocks down--” Ah. Thanks, Clint. “You got a great three-bedroom house!” Just _three_ bedrooms? “Two and a half baths!” Oh, fuck this life. “Partially finished basement! Great backyard with a pool! And two great kids!”

They’re at the van now. Door open, the inside taunting him as it calls for him to get inside. He looks back at Clint and Nat as though they can save him from this. 

“Okay,” Nat murmurs. “You remember when I got nervous right before Sharon and I got married? Do you remember what you said to me?” When all Bucky does is stare blankly at her, since that’s all he’s capable of doing, she nods and says, “You told me: ‘Don’t ruin the best thing in your life just because you’re a little scared.” Bucky’s eyebrows shoot up. _He_ said that? “There’s no one like you and Steve, James. You’re gonna be fine.” Nat wraps her arms around him and gives him a tight hug. “Go home, okay? We’ll see you later.” 

After getting a hug and an overzealous kiss on the cheek from Clint, the two of them get into the black sedan with DC plates and head off, leaving Bucky to climb back into the minivan on his own. They honk as they drive past and Bucky robotically puts his arm up in the air. Just an automatic response. He looks back at the driver’s seat of the minivan, lets out a hard and heavy sigh, and gets back in. 

 

It takes another ten minutes, but Bucky finally parks the minivan in front of the right house. 616 Shield Avenue. Where Steve Rogers and two kids are waiting for him inside. It’s not a _bad_ looking house, not really. Two stories -- red brick and white panelings. Bay window with what looks like Santa’s workshop on display right now. Hedges out in front. Clint said there was a pool in the backyard. There’re holiday lights -- icicle lights, Bucky thinks they’re called -- hanging from the roof and regular ones going around the door and spread along the hedges. Those plastic, glowing soldier guys are stationed in front of the stoop. A big, green wreath complete with red bow and holiday greetings hangs on white the front door. With the snow sprinkled over everything, it looks rather… picturesque.

That doesn’t stop the nerves that spring and scatter across Bucky’s belly. The sweat that gathers in the palms of his hands like a tropical rainforest. He takes in several deep breaths and crinkles his nose in mild panic every time he looks out the window. 

Bucky catches a glimpse of himself in the rearview mirror and glares at his reflection. 

“Okay.” He sucks in a deep breath through his nose. “You were gonna be named Forbes Magazine’s Man of the Year _twice_. They call you the Winter Soldier. You’re the _youngest_ Vice President of Stark Industries.” Bucky points at the mirror. “ _Nothing_ can bring _you_ down. If you’re gonna get your life back by playing family man, then that’s what you’ll do. They can’t hurt you. They _won’t_ hurt you. You are _better_ than them, now damn it, Barnes, get your _ass_ in there and _do this_.” 

He nods at himself. One quick, jerky movement of his chin before turning the van off and shoving the door opening. Bucky marches towards the house and then realizes he’s forgotten the bag that Eli gave to him. The one with the bike bell which may or maybe not be the only way to signal him and spins back around to race back to the car to fetch it. He snatches it off the passenger seat and pretends his still has _some_ dignity to retain by fixing the joke of a jacket he’s wearing while he heads towards this house again. 

Whatever confidence, fake or not, Bucky can’t even really tell, he managed to stir inside of himself to get him out of that van completely vanishes the second he eases the door open. Bucky has no idea what to expect, none at all, and he finds himself sneaking in the exact opposite way he bolted out earlier. Tiptoeing over the hardwood floors of the front hall after he gently closes the door behind him. 

Everything is quiet. So far, anyway, and Bucky takes a second to stand there while he still mostly hidden unless someone suddenly appears on top of the staircase that’s in front of him.

Stiff and tense, Bucky peeks around the first wall to check the room to the right. Same living room as before only now most of those presents are opened. Toys are scattered across the floor and there’s scraps of wrapping paper stuck to the carpet. No one’s in there though. 

To the left of where Bucky’s standing is that cramped dining room he noticed earlier. The oval table is filled with dishes scattered with leftover food. Pancakes and sticky syrup. Half-empty glasses of orange juice. There’s a highchair by the table, the tray of it littered with broken up and smooshed pieces of food. 

Bell clenched in his hands, Bucky steps through the dining room, slow and cautious, looking for any signs of life as he heads towards, what he thinks is, the kitchen. Eyes wide and full of uncertainty, Bucky nearly leaps out of his skin when he hears someone behind him. Bucky freezes, the air in his lungs icing over with him as his heart stops and then picks up double time.

“I don’t know. I don’t-can you hold on a second?” 

It’s Steve. Steve on the phone and coming into the dining room from the living room. His eyes are swollen and puffy. Red. Under his nose is all pink. There’s a tissue crumpled up in his hand and the instant he spots Bucky he halts in his spot. A look of sheer and absolute relief shoots across his face. It melts in his shoulder and rolls out with his next calm, soothing exhale.

Steve starts for Bucky before remembering he was on the phone with someone. He looks at the device in his hand like he’s not sure what to do -- continue to move for Bucky or continue his conversation. Shaking his head quickly, he brings the phone back to his ear.

“Um, you know what,” Steve says to whoever he’s talking to. “Nevermind, cause he, uh, he just walked in. But thanks, um, thank you so much for your help. And Merry Christmas.”

Ending the call, Steve drops the phone onto the table, practically missing in his haste, and dashes over to Bucky. He throws his arms around him so tightly Bucky can barely even breathe. Not quite sure what to do, Bucky makes an awkward attempt at a hug back, lifting stiff arms and leaning in just enough that it might be considered affectionate. 

Steve is sniffling, his breathing hitched as his chest rattles against Bucky’s and for just a second, Bucky’s not here but JFK airport eleven years ago. With Steve holding him and crying. 

Only this time, with Steve’s arms swathed tightly around him, Steve asks in a tear thick voice, “Are you hurt?”

Bucky blinks over Steve’s shoulder and at the messy room around him. “What?”

“Hurt?” Steve repeats, his voice cracking this time. “Are you hurt? Sick? Are you dying? You gotta tell me if you are, baby, cause if you are we’ll get through this together, but I can’t help you if you don’t tell me, Bucky, you can tell me, Buck, I promise I--”

“No, that’s not…” Bucky shakes his head and mumbles, “No. No, I’m not hurt or sick or anything. I’m fine.” 

Chest inflating a bit, Steve’s lips pull together as he takes a measured step back, disengaging himself from the affectionate hold he’s had around Bucky the whole time. Eyebrows stitched, he wipes at his eyes and blows his nose with that tissue and sniffles a bit more with a nod.

“So, you’re not hurt?”

“N-no…?”

Steve nods again. “And you’re not sick?” 

Needing a moment to think on that, because, sure, Eli may have explained this whole glimpse thing but Bucky went to bed last night in his Manhattan penthouse -- the richest man in the building and the Vice President of Stark Industries -- and woke up this morning in a house on Long Island married to Steve Rogers, but that doesn't make this any easier. Bucky swallows the hard lump in his throat and just shakes his head.

In response to Bucky’s assurance that he’s neither hurt nor sick, Steve nods once more with that relieved look shining through his eyes before that look turns hard and angry enough to make Bucky cringe. The punch to his arm comes quick and sudden, sending a jolt of pain rippling through him.

“Ah-hey!” Bucky yelps, grabbing at the spot. “Ow!”

“Do you have any idea what you put us through today!?” Steve asks and Bucky bites his lip. He remembers fighting with Steve. Remembers _really_ not being a fan of it. “You run out of here at eight in the morning, you _don’t_ even tell me _where_ you’re going or _that_ you’re going.” Bucky tries to say something, what, he’s not sure, but his mouth opens and then snaps shut. “And I don’t see you till _hours_ later?” Steve takes a deep breath, giving Bucky ample time to say something again. Anything, really, but once again Bucky only gets as far as opening his mouth before simply folding his lips in. “I called… I called _all_ of our friends, I was on the phone with the county police, the state troopers! I was calling _hospitals_ for god’s sakes! What kind of a man _leaves_ his family on _Christmas_ morning without a word about where he’s going?” Steve’s been serious and firm this whole time, but he’s suddenly shouting and Bucky’s now shrinking back. “What kind of a man does that, Bucky?!”

“I don’t--” Bucky shakes his head. “I don’t know. Could you… could you please…” He whimpers softly. “Stop yelling at me?”

As if realizing that’s what he’s doing and feeling badly about it, Steve closes his eyes for a second rubs the spots between them. When he looks at Bucky again, he presses his lips together and sighs softly. Steve holds his hands up. Tired and confused, Bucky thinks. 

“Where were you?”

“I-I was…” No lie comes to mind, so Bucky just goes with the truth. “I was in the city.”

Steve’s eyebrows shoots up. “The… _city_? Like… New York City?”

Where else?

“Yeah.”

Like he’s willing to give Bucky the benefit of the doubt, Steve patiently stands up straight and rubs the back of his neck. He looks at Bucky and keeps his face a lot more neutral than it’s been since he found out that Bucky’s well-being wasn’t an issue in this whole mess of a day. 

“Okay. _Why_ were you in the city?”

Well, if _that’s_ not the twenty-five thousand dollar question of the afternoon, Bucky doesn’t know what it. Trying to come up with some bullshit explanation for this isn’t as nearly as easy as working out a deal between two multi-billion dollar corporations preparing for a merger, and Bucky finds himself just stammering for a few seconds until he finds himself just blurting out the truth again.

“Because… because that’s where I live!” 

Steve points a scolding finger at him. “Don’t start, Bucky. I’m _so_ not in the mood.”

“Look, you don’t understand,” Bucky tries to explain. “I… I woke up this morning… _here_.” He points around the house. “And… and…” he chuckles nervously while Steve just watches quite _unamused_ by a single word he’s saying. “And this is very strange to me because this… this _isn’t_ my house.”

Making a noise in the back of his throat, Steve holds his hand up and rolls his eyes as though he’s had it with whatever else Bucky might want to say. He moves around Bucky and heads for the table.

“Th-those aren’t my kids!” he swears, though he’s pretty sure Steve isn’t really listening to him anymore as he starts to stack the plates and clear the table off. “I’m not…” What did those kids call him? “Papa? I’m not a _dad_! You’re not my husband!”

Plates in his hand, Steve grunts a turns back around. 

“You know what, it’s not funny this time, Bucky. I’m really mad! Like, I’m _actually_ mad at you!” He says that as though it’s rare. A comfort, given Bucky hated it what they fought though it _wasn’t_ very often. “I mean _really_ mad!” As he goes on saying it, Bucky, knowing he’s not getting anywhere with this, decides to fish the bike bell out of the plastic for some help. “I mean it!” he says as Bucky pulls back the little handle on the bell to make it chime. “I don’t even…” Bucky does it again even though Steve’s now looking at him like he’s grown a second head. “I…” Nothing happens when Bucky rings the bell so he does it for a fourth and fifth time. “What...” Steve sighs. “What is this? What’re you _doing_?”

Before Bucky can answer, not that he would -- would he say he hopes this will call the angel, Eli? -- that little girl appears, rolling into the dining room on a bike with training wheels. A plastic basket on the front. Streamers coming out of the handles. Disney princess stickers all along the sides. She pedals right on over to Bucky with a big, happy grin on her face while Bucky, startled and panicked, backs right into the accent cabinet, the glass things inside rattling around. 

The little girl isn’t put off at all, even though Steve looks at Bucky like he’d like to punch him once more time. Instead, the little girl smiles even bigger when she notices what’s been making the ringing noise. 

“What’s that?” she asks, reaching out and taking the bell from Bucky’s hands. She gives it a test ring and just lights up with the sound it makes. “Cool!”

“Hey…” Bucky mumbles weakly. “That’s… that’s mine…”

“Look, Daddy!” She shows Steve the bell. “Look what Papa got me!”

Steve grins at her as he takes a seat on one of the dining room chairs. He runs a hand gently over her thick, curly hair. 

“I see, sweetie. Why don’t you go take your bike inside and then go get washed up. We’ll put your pretty dress on in a little bit, okay?”

“Okay!” She smiles brightly at him and starts to pedal away, shouting back at Bucky, “Thanks, Papa!”

“No, that’s… I need that!” He turns his attention to Steve, pointing in the direction the little girl took off in. “She took my bell!” 

Bucky’s arm falls flat against his side when Steve looks up at him, all thoughts of the stupid bell disappearing. Those big, weepy eyes and turned down lip make him not care at all about it. Steve looks so freaking sad that it doesn’t matter if it’s been eleven years or not. Doesn’t matter that Bucky’s not really married to him or that this isn’t really the house he shares with him and he’s not really raising those kids with him. He never wants to see that heartbroken look on Steve’s face.

“We spent…” He snickers sadly. “We spent eight hours putting that bike together for Sarah and then you didn’t even get to see the look on her face when she opened it.” Steve looks down at his lap. Fiddles with his fingers and sniffles again. “You missed the whole thing. The pancakes…” He gestures to the messy table. “You promised them _your_ pancakes.” Bucky has no idea what _his_ pancakes are, but apparently they’re pretty important. “You missed the presents and just…” Steve sighs and looks up at him again. “You missed _Christmas_ , Bucky.” 

Looking down at his feet, Bucky shuffles them a bit across the floor. He rubs at the back of his neck, trying to get out something that might make that look on Steve’s face go away, but the only things that come out of his mouth are the start of broken words. 

“Is it… _me_ , Buck?” Steve asks in that small, sad voice of his. The one Bucky remembers Steve only ever using around him. It was rare the Steve ever shared his insecurities, and Bucky learned early on in their relationship that it look a hell of a lot of trust and closeness, and something really special, to be let into that side of Steve. “Did I do something to upset you? Something wrong? If I did, I--”

“No!” Bucky interrupts. He has to. No matter what’s going on here, this glimpse thing isn’t Steve’s fault in the slightest and Bucky really, _really_ hates that look on his face. “No, Steve…” Bucky pauses and straightens. “Steve...” Wow. Hell, it’s been a really long time since he’s said his name directly to him like that. “It’s not your fault at all. You didn’t do anything. I’m… Look, I’m sorry about today, okay? I’m just… I’m just really sorry. Steve. I’m sorry, Steve.” 

A soft smile twitches the corners of Steve’s mouth. Eyes flicking to the grandfather clock in the corner of the room, Steve clearns his throat and gets back to his feet. 

“Look, we don’t have time for this,” he says. “You’re okay. That’s what matters.” Steve is suddenly putting his arms around him again like not a damn thing’s happened between them at all. He just hugs him tight and kisses his neck. “You’re okay, right? You are, right, Bucky?”

“Uh…” Stiff in Steve’s embrace, Bucky gives him a pat on the back. “Yep. Promise.” 

“‘Kay. You’re okay and I’m okay. We’re okay.” Pulling away, Steve sorta sneaks a peck to Bucky’s cheek like it’s nothing. “I’m gonna start getting the kids changed,” he says as he goes back to clearing the table. “And you need to shower. You are _not_ wearing that to the Chadwick’s party, I don’t care how funny you think you are.”

Out of all of that the only thing that registered in Bucky’s brain was the word _party_ , which made every inch of his insides ice over. 

“Wait, wait… a party?” Bucky gets the words past the rock in his throat. “N-no, no. I can’t do a party.”

Already heading into the kitchen with an armful of dishes, Steve stops and glances over his shoulder.

“What? Bucky, we look forward to this party all year long--what’s with you today?”

“I just…” Okay, he can pull this one off. “I really don’t think a party is such a good idea for me right now.”

Steve shrugs and sighs before going towards to kitchen again. “Okay. Fine. Do what you gotta do. I’ll call my dad and tell him he doesn’t have to stay with the kids later.”

Oh, no. No, that doesn’t sound promising, and Bucky finds himself right on Steve’s heels as he gets to the sink and starts working on rinsing the dishes off. Before Bucky even has a chance to question why Steve is calling his dad, there’s a plate being handed to him and Bucky is absently just taking it from him. He stands there with it, confused, until he realizes Steve wants him to put it in the dishwasher.

“Wh-why’re you gonna do that?” Bucky asks as he automatically loads dish after dish and glass after glass while Steve hands them to him one by one. 

“Do what?” Steve is scraping off dried syrup from one of the forks. “What’re you talking about?”

“Your dad,” he clarifies. “Why’re you calling him?”

Steve looks over at him as he hands over some more silverware meant for the dishwasher. “Cause _you’ll_ be here.”

Instead of taking the forks from Steve’s hand like he’d been set to do, Bucky pulls his arm back it at the implication of that statement. He’ll be here. Steve’s dad won’t need to be here because he will be. Which means _he’ll_ need to watch the kids. An idea which makes him want to run away screaming as he begs not to be made to do that. If his options are going to this party or watching these kids, the choice is easy.

“I’ll be ready in twenty minutes,” Bucky says, hustling out of the kitchen without ever taking the silverware from Steve. 

He can hear Steve’s mumbled confusion as he dashes out of the room and heads for the stairs. Bucky hurries up them. Even tripping up them as he does. Twice. When he makes it to the second floor, he’s out of breath. He knows he’s in good shape, what with the workout routine and personal trainer he works with three times a week, but he’s still out of breath as he spins around in a circle figuring out which room to go to. 

End of the hall. Master bedroom, right. At least there’s on en suite, that’s not so bad. In the master bathroom is the first time Bucky gets a real look at himself and no wonder no one would even give him a chance. Fuck knows, _he_ wouldn't have if someone looking like him came up to him on the streets. He looks ridiculous right now. 

One side of his hair is standing up while the other is flat against his head. He’s got five o’clock shadow which he suspects has been there since about 9am. The clothes are even worse than he imagined. The red sweatpants are actually tight around the legs and jacket _might_ actually be a lady’s jacket. Maybe after a shower and freshening up, getting himself dressed in a nice suit, Bucky might _actually_ feel a little more like his normal self.

The shower does, in fact, make him feel a little better. Clears his head and warms him to the core. It’s just nice to be clean again. Brushing his teeth gives him a bit of trouble; Bucky’s not _quite_ sure which toothbrush to use, but gives the bristles a little touch and finds the ones on the green brush still wet and figures that one must’ve been used recently. Steve did always like the color green, so Bucky takes a chance with the blue one and runs it over his teeth. He sighs and makes a face at the choice of hair product -- cheap and generic -- but Bucky shakes his head and is determined to make the best of this. That must be the key to ending this glimpse as soon as possible. 

“A positive attitude, Barnes,” he tells his reflection as he gathers some mousse into the palm of his hair. “It’s gotten you far in life and it’ll get you outta this.”

He goes on motivating himself like that as he runs the stuff through his hair. The product he has at home -- _his_ home, anyway -- is much better, but he can pull of his look. As long as he can find a… okay… okay, no problem, there’s a hair dryer under the sink. An older model, but it gets the job done and Bucky even attempts to flash that saucy grin of his in the mirror. Doesn’t _quite_ pull it off, but he gets some of his teeth showing before his shoulders fall and he’s sighing again.

On the back of the door are two robes. Things are so domestic around here that one says _Daddy_ and the other says _Papa_. How sickeningly cute. Bucky grabs the _Papa_ one and tosses it on before leaving the bathroom.

He wanders about the bedroom a bit, trying to figure out which stuff is supposed to be his and which belongs to Steve. Bucky resorts to checking sizes. Really, it’s the only way. Steve always was a bit bigger than him. Frame, waist, height. There’re two dressers -- Bucky assumes the one meant for his use is the one _without_ all the art supplies on it since Steve was always the one dabbling with paints and sketches and artsy stuff, and the only reason Bucky even took an art class was to check out the nude model cause he was a perverted college student. The only things in there are socks and underwear, undershirts and t-shirts, jeans and pajamas. Nothing suitable to wear to a party. 

There’s only one closet in the room. Bucky wonders if they share it. It wouldn’t be all that surprising. Pulling open the bifold doors, Bucky groans at what he sees. Polyester. Cotton. Plaid. JC Pennys. Sears. _Maybe_ Macy’s. Any chance at feeling like himself has gone right out the window. 

“Oh, no,” he grumbles, reaching in for one of the _nicer_ shirts and feeling the material. “Oh, this is… this no good.” Bucky pulls the cotton blend button down out and holds it against his chest with a huff. “This is just subpar.”

The hurried click clacking of tiny shoes headed his way, catches Bucky by surprise, and he glances towards the door just as the little girl -- Sarah -- appears with a thin, silver box in her hands and a smile on her face.

“Papa!” she exclaims. “Look what me and Ian got you!”

She comes into the room, arms outstretched, and Bucky, without thinking, backs right into the closet door as she gets closer. Sarah pauses, her smile fading a bit before Bucky realizes that he’s probably just scared the hell out of a poor little girl. 

“Uh, hi.” He closes his eyes and shakes his head. Tries that again. “I mean, uh, thank you.” He holds his hand out so he can take the box from her. “Thanks, uh… Sarah.” 

She’s all dressed up now, in a black and gold holiday dress and white tights and shiny black shoes -- the reason for all the clacking that alerting Bucky to her approach. Her hair is done in curly pigtails and her blue eyes, full of suspicion, stare up at Bucky for a second before she twirls on her heels and sprints out of the room. 

Knowing he probably screwed that up immensely, Bucky shakes his head and takes a peek inside the box she gave to him. In it, is a tie. A black tie with red and green holiday lights all over it. Which actually makes the process of picking out what to wear a little easier since he figures this is a Christmas gift and he should probably pick something that around the tie itself. 

Ending up in a green button down and a sweater vest over it -- khakis that go well enough with it all -- and the tie tucked under the vest, Bucky gives himself the once over and can’t muster up another fake grin for his reflection. On the wall, there’s a picture of him and Steve from some other Christmas. A party, it looks like. Steve has reindeer ears on. Bucky has a Santa hat on. They’re both grinning ear-to-ear. Bucky looks at it and grimaces.

“Well,” he grumbles. “I guess _this_ is as good as it’s gonna get.”

With nothing left to do, Bucky takes one last look at the mirror, _barely_ recognizes himself, and then forces himself -- with lead legs and heavy arms -- to go back downstairs. At the bottom of the stairs, Steve is getting the kids all bundled up, chatting away with them as he does. About the day, about what their favorite gift Santa brought was, about being good at the party -- all with this big smile on his face. 

Bucky pauses mid-step halfway down the stairs when he sees what Steve has on. It’s an ugly -- _ugly --_ Christmas sweater. Red, with Darth Vader and Stormtroopers and other various Star Wars aesthetics around it. Pinching the spot between his eyes, Bucky sighs and doesn’t even _want_ to know what else can be a part of his wardrobe if that’s what he’s going with to wear to a Christmas party.

The little boy -- Ian, Bucky thinks Sarah called him -- is chewing on a set of keys, drooling and giggling every time he jingles them. Between his little outfit -- khakis like Bucky and a plaid red shirt with a sweater vest over it complete with a cute train printed on the middle -- and Sarah’s pretty dress, the two _kids_ are more formal than the adults. 

When Sarah’s faux fur coat is all buttoned up and her mittens are on and her little beret style hat is placed over her head, Steve goes to press a kiss to her cheek but blows bubbles instead, pulling giggles and laughter from her.

“Daddy!” she shrieks, cheeks all rosy as she tries to push away from him though her laughter. “That tickles!” 

Chuckling, Steve does stop and then fixes her hat. “Oh, yeah? Is Daddy being silly?”

“ _Too_ silly!”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry.” He taps his cheek. “Gimme kiss then.”

She does. Sarah throws her arms around his big shoulders as best she can and gives him a big kiss on his cheek. Steve tells her to go stand by the door to wait and then goes to scoop up Ian, giving him a gentle toss as he does. 

“Wha’ch’ya got there, buddy?” he asks. “Do you have Daddy’s keys?” Once Steve is on his feet, he catches Bucky watching him on the stairs and smiles. Smiles like today has played out without any hitch at all. “Hey! There you are!” 

Bucky makes himself go down the rest of the stairs. The second he’s in front of Steve, Steve, baby at the hip, pulls Bucky in closer by the knot of his tie and plants a kiss. Something strange shoots down Bucky’s spine when Steve’s lips are against his like that. He forces his back. Ignores it. This is just a glimpse. Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter. 

“You like?” Steve holds one arm out so that Bucky can get a good look at his ugly sweater. “The _kids_ did a great job picking out our gifts this year, huh?”

“Oh, uh…” Great, that probably mean this world’s version of _him_ picked that god awful shirt out. “Yeah. It’s really, uh, great.” 

Bucky turns to the little girl, who’s kinda peeking from around the same wall Bucky snuck around before. He tries to give her a smile and thumbs up -- if his hand will cooperate -- but before he can, her eyes go wide and she ducks back into the front all again. 

“You about ready, babe?” Steve asks, too preoccupied getting a struggling Ian into his coat and hat and gloves to notice Sarah hiding from Bucky. “We’re already late.” Without giving Bucky a chance to answer, he goes on. “I’m gonna get these two in the car, can you grab the cookies on the table?”

Glancing into the dining room, Bucky sees what he’s talking about. Sure enough, there’s a plate of cookies. Sugar cookies, chocolate chip cookies, oatmeal cookies, rainbow cookies. Bucky always did love Steve’s cooking and before he grabs the plate to bring it along, he starts to peel back the plastic wrap to grab one of those chocolate chip ones.

“And hands off, mister!” Steve shouts as he walks out the front door, making Bucky drop the cookie back into the pile. “Those’re for the party!”

Nose crinkling into a glower -- how is it that _this_ Steve could’ve _known_ he was gonna do that? -- Bucky wraps the plastic over the plate again and grabs the dish before getting a jacket on -- this time much more suitable for him, though not nearly up to his standards -- and heading outside to meet Steve in the van. 

The sun has set already, though it’s not completely dark yet. There’s a soft glow along the snow that crunches beneath Bucky’s feet. He pauses for just a second, watching as Steve buckles Ian into a carseat. Steve is smiling at him, making silly faces and, like with Sarah inside, blowing raspberries on his cheeks. Ian is giggling like crazy and trying to push Steve away with chubby hands. Once again, when Steve’s made sure they’re all safely in the car and he slides the door closed, he spots Bucky standing there and waves him over. 

“Get a move on, slowpoke!” he calls. “You want me to drive?” he asks when Bucky approaches. “You can have a few drinks?” 

Drinks sound heavenly right now. Plus, Bucky’s got _no_ idea where they’re headed, so Steve driving is probably the best bet anyway. 

“Yeah, thanks, Steve.” 

Flashing Bucky a cheesy smile, Steve climbs into the driver’s seat and leans over to push open Bucky’s door for him. As soon as Bucky gets settled in next to him -- as settled as he can get anyway, which just means he’s in the passenger seat with the seatbelt on and a plate of cookies in his lap while remaining stiff and rigid -- Steve reaches over and gives his thigh an affectionate squeeze. 

A twenty minute drive later sees them parking in front of a house more than twice the size of theirs. Immaculately decorated. Looks like maybe they hired professionals to do it for them since there’s just no _way_ amateurs could’ve gotten it to be this nice. Honestly, it’s like someone pulled this place out of a catalog and placed it right here. 

Steve is telling the kids -- or Sarah, really, since Ian appears to be too young to really understand -- as they walk up the front steps that when grandpa says it’s time to go that they listen and don’t give them a hard time while Bucky just clutches onto that plate of cookies like a goddamn security blanket. Since Steve’s hands are full -- one arm with a little bundle of baby boy tucked at his hip and one hand holding Sarah’s -- it’s up to Bucky to knock on the door. He kinda doesn’t want to, but does anyway. Today was a huge mess. Maybe if he gets through tonight successfully, he can be back in his real life by morning. 

“Oh, _here_ you are!” greets the lady who answers the door. All done up for the evening in a flattering, off-the-shoulder maroon dress and long, dark blonde hair falling in loose curls. “Hey, everyone!” she calls back inside. “Steve and Bucky are here!”

As she waves them inside and takes the cookies from Bucky -- which Bucky doesn’t actually want to hand over since, as childish as it is, holding the plate is comforting -- a shout of greetings hits them from every direction. 

“Whitney,” Steve says and presses their cheeks together. “Merry Christmas.” 

A man -- Whitney’s husband, Bucky presumes -- shakes Steve’s hand while Whitney tosses his coat to him. She then focuses on Bucky as Steve starts getting Ian out of his jacket and telling Sarah what to do with her things.

“Hey! There’re my grandkids!” Now that’s someone Bucky recognizes immediately. Joe Rogers might be graying and balding, he’s got a little bit of a pot belly, but that loud and happy voice and smiling face hasn’t changed one bit. “Come over here and give your grandpa a hug!”

As soon as she wriggles free from her jacket, Sarah bounds over to him and leaps into his arms, Ian waddling behind her and falling once on his bottom before clambering back to his feet and making it there this time. 

“Hey, Dad,” Steve greets. “Merry Christmas.” 

Both kids in his arms, Joe comes over and gives Steve an over-the-top kiss on the cheek. “Merry Christmas, my boy.” He turns to Bucky. “And how’s my son-in-law? I heard you gave us quite the scare today?”

Bucky just stares at him for a seconds, heart twisting. He’s not prepared to answer any questions about his weird behavior from earlier today. But he doesn’t have to. Steve steps him for him. In fact, he _literally_ steps in for him, standing next to him and loops their arms together, leaning in close and snuggling against him. 

“Aw, leave my hubby alone, Dad,” he says in Bucky’s defense. Steve kisses Bucky’s neck. “We’re fine.”

“Ah, of course you are,” Joe laughs. “You could never stay mad at him.”

As Steve goes on to ask his dad if he really doesn’t mind watching them during the party and Joe tell him that one of his favorite parts about Christmas is being surrounded by all the kids, Whitney is putting her hands at Bucky’s shoulders and helping him out of his jacket. 

“Bucky, dear, lemme help you with that,” she offers. “Come on _in_ , stay a while!” She’s taken his jacket and, like with Steve’s earlier, sorta flings it at her husband. “You didn’t even say _anything_ about my dress.” 

She moves her hips this way and that, likely trying to show it to him, but Bucky is much more interested in the fact that Joe has taken off with the kids and Steve is smiling and waving at someone further into this huge place like he’s about to head off in that direction. Bucky takes a step to follow, but Whitney takes him by the arm. 

“Well?” she asks. “What do you think?” She twists a little again, and Bucky attempts to at least indulge her a little, but he really can’t let Steve get away from him. “I thought I saw you notice it at the kid’s recital.” 

“Uh, yeah,” Bucky mumbles. “It’s really, very lovely.” He moves away from her and takes hold of Steve’s wrist before he gets any further. “Where’re you going?”

Steve looks back at him. Confused. He chuckles a little and points over his shoulder with his thumb.

“I’m going to say hi to Peggy and Angie,” he tells him with a little shake of his head. “Why?” 

“No, don’t…” Bucky shakes his head and feels completely ridiculous, but still practically whimpers, “Don’t leave me.” 

It’s absurd, really. Bucky’s traveled all over the world. Dined with multi-billionaires and politicians and even royalty. Been to soirées with some of the highest, most prestigious company. He’s even had dinner at the White House _and_ Buckingham Palace. And yet here, in this big house out in the middle of nowhere Long Island, Bucky feels the desperate need to follow Steve -- his not-husband -- around like a lost puppy. 

But Steve smiles softly and turns around completely, putting both hands gently on Bucky’s chest. It takes some effort, but Bucky manages not to jerk away when Steve kisses him.

“It’s okay, baby,” he whispers. Cups the side of Bucky’s face. “I’m not mad.” Steve sighs contently and hugs him. “I promise.” 

“Oh… I… uh…”

“Go on,” Steve murmurs, pressing another kiss to Bucky’s cheek. “Get yourself a drink. I drove so you can have a few.” He points to the set-up of drinks and liquor on the other end of the big room. “I’ll be right over there with everyone.” 

Adding one more kiss -- Steve _sure_ does like to kiss -- he makes his way further into the place, saying hello to a few friendly faces along the way until he gets to two brunettes who shower him with hugs and kisses. Bucky watches for just a few seconds as one talks animatedly to Steve and the other smiles at her like she’s her whole world, laughing and giving Steve a few loving pats to his arm whenever he finds a chance to respond to the one talking. A headache’s coming on already, and Bucky hurries to the liquor and pours himself a glass of cheap Scotch. 

He makes a face as soon as the liquor touches his tongue, but it’s the best they’ve got and he’ll just have to deal with it. Finishing that glass off quickly, Bucky pours some more and is careful not to down that whole thing as fast this time. Except that he doesn’t exactly drinking it slowly and within three minutes Bucky’s serving himself another. 

_Easy, Barnes_ , he reminds himself. _Don’t let this be another New Year's 2005._

Drink in hand, Bucky turns to face the crowd. It takes less than two seconds for the envy to start creeping in. If he and Steve just _had_ to do the suburbia thing then why couldn’t it look like _this_? This place is outstanding. Open-floor plan. Dark, hardwoods -- not too dark though, nothing’s clashing -- Mazama, it looks like. Thirteen foot ceilings, cathedral. Perfect height for the ten foot Christmas tree in the corner of the room by the huge fire place -- fire in it now, of course, what a better way to get the perfect Christmas party ambiance. The tree is just dripping with holiday festivity. Lights and ornaments and garland all topped off with a beautifully dressed angel. From what Bucky can see of the kitchen it’s all marble countertops and high-end appliances. Suburban lifestyle or not, these people are living it up. Giving their kids everything they could possibly want, that’s for damn sure. 

Sighing into his glass, Bucky brings it back to his lips. Whatever. It’s not like it matters. None of this is real anyway and soon enough he’ll be back to _his_ life.

“Hey, there he is!” someone says from his side, clapping him on the back. “Merry Christmas, man.” 

The sudden greeting and presence sees Bucky dribbling the liquor all down the front of his chin. A bit falls along his shirt, but he’s quick enough to snag a cocktail napkin before he makes a complete mess of himself. 

Whoever’s next to him chuckles and hands him another napkin. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle ya.”

“Go easy on ‘im today, Sam.” Oh, Bucky recognizes that one. Natasha’s coming from his other side. “He had a rough morning.”

“Yeah, I heard about that.” Sam gives Bucky a little nudge with his shoulder. “Not flakin’ out on us yet, are ya’, Buck?” Before Bucky can answer that -- it actually doesn’t look like Sam had any real worries about Bucky _flaking_ out of them -- Sam’s digging his phone out of his pocket and showing them pictures of a ride on lawnmower. “Check out what Maria got me.”

“Oh!” Clint is exclaiming though Bucky, for the life of him, can’t remember when the hell Clint got there. “Look at _you_ , buddy! You’re gonna be the _hottest_ guy around here this summer!”

“Pft.” Sam gives him and Nat a showy shrug. “Sam Wilson is _always_ the hottest guy around here. Summer, fall, spring, _and_ winter.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay, hot-shot,” says the pretty Latina coming towards them. “Maybe you’re the hottest guy around here, but Maria Hill-Wilson will forever be the hottest all around.”

Wilson? Sam Wilson? The name floats somewhere along Bucky’s memories as this Maria lady slips an arm around Sam’s waist and gives him a kiss. Sam laughs at something else she says, lighting up with the smile and giving a high-five to Nat. Before walking away earlier, Steve said something about saying hello to Peggy and Angie. Bucky can’t remember an Angie and doesn’t know a Maria -- well, not this one anyway -- but he does remember a Sam and a Peggy through Steve. The three of them grew up around here together. 

Sam Wilson and Peggy Carter, that’s _right_. Last Bucky saw of them -- of the few times he’d had the pleasure -- Sam had been working in Harlem as an EMT and Peggy had been in her second tour overseas. What the hell they’re both doing back here -- and the fact that Clint and Nat are for that matter -- is beyond Bucky. 

When Bucky starts paying attention again, a little more anyway, he realizes they’ve been joined by Clint’s wife, Laura with their youngest, Nathaniel, at her hip and a bottle in his mouth, and Sharon, who stands arm in arm with Natasha. Bucky’s taking another sip of his drink when he realizes that they’re discussing this year’s hockey season. The Islanders to be precises. 

“Ugh,” he grunts without thinking about it. “The Islanders? They suck.”

His statement efficiently cuts off everything else they might have had to say with blank stares and stitched eyebrows. Whoops. That’s right. Long Island. Aside from maybe Nat and Clint -- though it seems they may have sold their souls, how _dare_ they -- everyone here probably roots for the Long Island based team. 

Okay. It’s fine, really. Bucky have made a fumbling mess of most of today, but this one is easy. He can fix this.

“But, they’re due,” he quickly remedies. “They’re totally due.” 

Getting a round of nods and smiles, sighs of agreement and shrugs of the impossible -- no _way_ the Islanders are gonna pull of this season -- Bucky almost wishes he can pat himself on the back. While that wasn’t the biggest success of his life, it’s definitely congratulatory worthy, even if there’s no one there to celebrate with. 

At least Maria offers him a cigar. It’s not the best of cigars, but it’s something to be had on a special occasion such as this. Well, Christmas for them and being able to get out of that sticky little situation for Bucky. Hopefully a sign of better things to come as well. 

Somehow, they end up beginning to migrate towards the area where Steve is standing with Peggy and Angie and a few other people, but before Bucky can go with them, he’s stopped by that woman, Whitney. 

“Can I interest you in one of these finger foods?” she offers, holding up a tray of assorted cheap treats. “You _know_ you want.”

“Oh… uh…” Bucky looks past her to where the others have gone. “No, thanks. That’s okay.”

“Oh, c’mon,” Whitney coos, sly look upon her face. “You’re just gonna pick at it as soon as I put it down. Oh, no, your hands are full though. Here.” She smirks at him. “Lemme do it for you.” 

Picking up a pig in a blanket, Whitney tries feeding it to Bucky. He attempts to back away, trying not to seem _too_ disgusted and disturbed by the idea of having that small, ball of grease shoved into his mouth by a total stranger, but she gets the better of him anyway and he ends up eating the little mini-hot dog.

“So?” she chuckles. “How is it?”

It’s still in his mouth. If he plays this right, he can get away and spit it out without having anyone notice. First though, he grins with his mouthful and just lies. 

“Yeah, it’s, uh, great. Very good.” 

“I _knew_ you’d like them.” Whitney laughs and pinches his cheek. “Made them _just_ for you.” 

“Mm,” Bucky mumbles. Drink in one hand and cigar in the other, Bucky holds a finger up. “‘S’cuse me.” 

As he figured, Bucky’s able to get rid of the foul taste before he’s more than just a few feet away and rinses his mouth out with another few sips of his Scotch. By the time he reaches the rest of them, Steve -- who’s nursing a Budweiser… actually, no, it’s a Bud Light -- pauses in some story he’s telling just so he take a second to smile at Bucky. 

“So, okay, Sarah and I are taking this parent-kids embroidery class together,” he’s saying. “And at the end of this thing, I don’t realize that she’s spelled the word “lawyers” wrong.” Steve is starting to laugh at this already. “So, I end up walking around _all_ day wearing a shirt that says _Non-profit_ layers _do it for free_.” 

Face bright red, Steve is cracking up at his embarrassing story. All around him, everyone joins in. The story _is_ funny, Bucky has to admit that. He, himself, is laughing along. Only it’s not quite for the same reason. While the story might be funny, there’s just one part of it he can’t seem to shake.

“You _are_ a lawyer, then?” he asks, unamused chuckle falling from his lips. “A _non-profit_ lawyer?”

Steve’s eyebrows pull together. “Bucky?”

“Pro bono,” Bucky says. “As in… _no_ one gets paid? Not a _dime_?” He barks another sarcastic laugh and shakes his head. “That’s just… that’s great. _Fantastic._ I gotta…” He downs what’s left of his drink and mumbles, “I’m gonna use the bathroom.” 

As Bucky makes his way through the crowded room in an attempt to find the restroom, he can hear Steve give the a group a simple exclaimed, “Anyway,” and go on with the conversation.

The rest of the night is something of a blur. Though Bucky’s pretty sure that Sarah has been keeping her distance from him, they pop in every now and then as they play with the Barton kids and some of the others that must be from around the neighborhood. Until a little bit later when Joe decides to take them home and Bucky somehow manages to wrangle Ian back into his winter gear. 

As Steve continues to thank him and say that they won’t be late, Joe continues to say that it’s not a problem and to take their time and enjoy themselves. 

“Okay, you be good for Grandpa,” Steve says once they’re all bundled up. “Me and Papa will be home in a little while.” 

Bucky _does_ try to say goodbye without looking like he’s totally out of place. He holds a finger out to Ian, who takes it in his pretty tight grip for a little guy and swings Bucky’s hand back and forth with a grin that shows off the few teeth he has. In spite of himself, Bucky does laugh. 

Sarah is a little tougher. After the tie incident -- which, damn his bleeding heart, he really didn’t mean to scare her -- she’s been eyeing him strangely all night. Still, she hangs on tightly to Joe’s pants and wiggles her little fingers at him when he says goodnight. 

It’s after that that Bucky begins to piece bits of this life together. Peggy _was_ in the army, like he remembered, and after her second tour was living out here where she met Angie, the manager at the local diner. Peggy would go there nearly everyday, sometimes twice a day, and sparks, apparently, were in the air. They now own the dinner together and married a few years ago. 

“Bucky, honey,” Peggy says softly to him. “When you get the chance, I’d love for your opinion on the new menu design. I emailed them to your work email, but take your time, of course.”

“The menu design?” Bucky questions. Is this really the sort of excitement he gets to work with around here?

Peggy smiles. “I think plain and simple, but you know Angie. Always a flair for the dramatic.”

Yes, Sam was an EMT in Harlem, but decided to go to medical school to become a nurse which landed him a position in Brookhaven Memorial Hospital, not all that far from here. He actually met Maria on the job in Harlem. She’s now working for private companies. Bucky’s not sure when they got married. Like Peggy and Angie they have no kids, but they seem to enjoy traveling a lot if not evident by the trip to they’re currently planning and the trip they’ve shown pictures of that they took a few months ago.

Clint and Laura apparently married a few years after they graduated college, though Bucky’s got no idea when they met. Like with Maria, he doesn’t remember ever meeting Laura. From what he gathers, they decided this was a nice place to raise their kids and when baby number two was on the way, they picked up and moved this way. 

Turns out, Nat and Sharon don’t actually live _here_ , but Washington D.C. and show up for as many special occasions as possible, which, according to those pictures Bucky was looking at earlier even includes BBQs and birthday parties. Sharon is Peggy’s cousin and she and Nat hit it off one weekend when they happened to be visiting at the same time. 

These people are nice enough, Bucky can’t deny them that, but good _Lord_ is this drab and boring. They don’t even all have kids and yet the most exciting topic under discussion is Sam and Maria’s trip to Paris over the summer. Bucky takes a quick peek at Steve and wonders if this version of them ever did get to live in Paris for a year like Steve always wanted to. Even just a took a trip there. By the longing that shimmers in Steve’s eyes, Bucky assumes the answer is no. 

They talk about sports -- not so bad, except for the bowling, uck -- and lawn maintenance and renovations. They’re talking about recipes and sewing and videogames for chrissake. Someone talks about a softball league to which Steve agrees enthusiastically about. A few parents ask Steve some advice for making their kid’s costumes for some upcoming school show. 

No one talks about any sort of business. No one talks about any other travel or art or music. Aside from a few minor mentions, no one brings up politics, though that one Bucky can totally understand why. There’s no discussions on philosophy or literature, and maybe Bucky’s being a snob… okay, he _knows_ he’s being a snob but _some_ drips and drabs of culture behind the humdrum, lackluster talks of meaningless everyday happenings isn’t asking for much, he thinks. 

The one thing Bucky just can’t figure out, no matter _how hard_ he tries, is what the hell he and Steve are doing here. How the hell did they end up in this god awful suburban lifestyle with a crappy, messy house and a stupid minivan? Bucky landed a coveted internship at one of the world’s best banks and Steve was accepted into one of the best law schools in the country and _this_ is where they ended up? With Bucky as a-- well, he’s not sure what he’s doing, but Steve as a _non-profit_ lawyer? How the _hell_ is this mediocre life even _close_ to what they deserve? How could they have possibly failed so miserably?

It’s all he can think about as they make their way home a few hours later, the cold air chilling Bucky right down to his bones even just walking from the driveway to the door. Steve walks with him. Looping their arms and letting his teeth chatter together and making a loud, high pitched groan for exaggerated effect. 

Once they’re through the door, Steve taps the snow off the bottom of his feet and shakes his whole body out like he’s relieved to finally be back inside.

“I better go wake my dad,” he says as he sheds his coat and grabs something else hanging from the hooks on the wall to toss at Bucky. “Hurry up, okay?”

Catching whatever’s been thrown at him, Bucky realizes it’s a dog’s leash and -- oh, no -- seconds later, a chocolate lab is charging at them, nearly tripping over her feet trying to get down there faster. The second she’s in front of them, she’s leaping up and pinning Bucky against the door, tongue hanging out of the side of her mouth and panting excitedly. Where the hell did _this_ beast come from? House in the burbs. Two kids -- boy and girl. _And_ a dog? All they’re missing is the god damn picket fence.

“Whoa, whoa,” Bucky mutters. “I’m not… I don’t think so.”

Steve, already going for the stairs, laughs and doesn’t bother turning around. “She’s _your_ dog, Bucky.” 

“ _No_ ,” Bucky argues. “She’s not.” 

Snorting, Steve does turn this time and nods. “You’re right, Buck. Cap is the kid’s dog. But _you’re_ the one who caved and then begged _me_ to get her. _Which_ you know is _totally_ unfair, by the way, Mr. Barnes-Rogers.” He’s coming back over now, wearing this sly, sneaky grin on his face. “You know I can’t say no to you. Now take this big baby for a walk.” Steve pets the dog on the head. “Freeze your cute tooshie off and hurry back so I can warm you up.”

Grin on his face, Steve gives him a kiss before landing a playful slap right across Bucky’s ass and finally making his way upstairs, leaving Bucky both spellbound and dumbfounded. Bucky looks down at the dog, who licks her chops and spins around in a circle once before sitting at his feet again. Sighing, Bucky fishes around for the loop on her collar and attaches the leash to take her out for a walk, snatching a plastic bag along with him. 

Absolutely positive it’s colder now than it was just ten minutes ago, Bucky shivers almost violently beneath his jacket as the dog trots happily down the empty, snow blanketed street. She turns in circles and sniffs at the air and stops to stare at _absolutely_ nothing for twenty minutes straight. Maybe not twenty minutes it’s probably more like one, but it’s cold and Bucky’s tired and this has been one hell of a day. 

“If you would just take a _crap_ ,” Bucky grunts after they’ve been out for twelve hundred hours and all Cap’s done in get her nose full of snow and roll around in it a few times. “Then we can go back _home_. Where it’s _warm_.” He looks around at the unfamiliar houses, most of the lights out now, and then back down the block he’s just come down. “That’s if we can get home. You remember which way we came, don’t you girl?”

Bucky does, in fact, find his way back to the house, after a few twists and turns, and mostly it’s because their house is one of the only ones left with all the holiday lights still brightly shining. Letting Cap -- whose name on her licence reads _Captain_ and that makes a little more sense -- off the leash, he can holy hope there’s nothing in particular he’s meant to do with her -- other than give her a treat from the jar in the kitchen which she’s _sure_ to let him know by the song and dance she does for him, Bucky starts to make his way up the stairs.

Heart pounding harder than it has in years, he creeps down the hall and back into the master bedroom. Steve mentioned something about keeping him warm. Bucky sighs in relief when he pushes the door open and finds Steve asleep in the bed. Mouth hanging open and one hand tucked under his pillow, the other slung over his back. So much for keeping him warm. Not that Bucky’s complaining much. 

On the corner of the bed is a folded up pair of flannel -- ugh, _flannel_ \-- pajamas, that Steve must’ve laid out for him. Quietly, so as not to wake his sleeping not-husband, Bucky picks them up and pauses just on the other side of the bed as he makes his way to the bathroom to change. It’s almost touching. This sweet, nonchalant gesture. Steve just… got out a pair of pajamas for him. Simply so Bucky didn’t have to do it for himself. 

Bucky shakes his head. No need to get sentimental. He played it off pretty well today, he thinks. A few mishaps, sure, but no major catastrophes. Maybe that's enough to get Eli to let him off the hook. Maybe he'll even wake up tomorrow back in _his_ life. The thought is the only comfort he has as he gets into the bed with Steve, laying stiff and awkward all the way at the edge as he tries to get a little shut-eye. Wearing the pajamas that Steve laid out just for him.


	4. Wishful Thinking

When Bucky wakes, he knows immediately he’s in an empty bed. There’s no overbearing presence next to him. No snoring to keep him up. No one to roll over on a cheap mattress and shake him awake.

A smile curls up on his lips, relief shooting through him as he rolls over to feel that emptiness with his own hand. Nothing. Bucky hums as he stretches across the mattress, wondering if that Company that Eli spoke of hands out awards for getting through a glimpse thing in record time or something cause this has _got_ to be some kind of a record. 

Still in the midsts of his self-congratulatory celebration, Bucky puts his hands behind his head when an unfamiliar sound echoes through his ears. Recognizable, but unfamiliar. Certainly not a sound he should be hearing if he’s waking in his Manhattan, Park Avenue penthouse. Which, upon opening his eyes and with a pitiful whine on his lips, he’s not, and the baby’s fussing noises sounding through the place are happening right here in the house on Long Island where he fell asleep last night. 

Bucky sits straight up and looks around the place. Same messy, cluttered room. Same flannel pajamas. Same mediocre existence. Dropping back into the pillows, Bucky flings the covers back over his head and wonders if maybe he can just sleep this whole thing away until it’s all over. When the baby starts crying though and Bucky realizes the shower is running, he figures that’s highly unlikely, and throws the blankets off again to get out of the bed. 

He knocks lightly on the bathroom door. “Hello?” When he gets no answer, Bucky tries knocking again. “Uh… _hello_?” Still no answer, so Bucky cracks the door open. “Hel--”

What he sees and hears cuts him off, the words drying up completely when he catches a glimpse of Steve singing and dancing through the clear shower curtain. There’s absolutely no rhyme or rhythm to it. No grace in any of his twists and turns this way and that to his own horribly off key tune as he attempts to recreate his own version of _Uptown Funk_. Most of the words he’s singing are wrong and those that’re right are in the wrong place, but he just happily goes on singing anyway. High-pitched and out of tune and without a care in the world. 

“Um… Steve?” Bucky tries again. And when Steve still doesn’t hear him over his horrible singing, Bucky shouts, “ _Hey_!”

That finally gets Steve’s attention and he draws the curtain back all the way, wiping water from his face and, dear _god_ , there’s soapy water dripping down _every_ inch of his rock hard body. When did… when did _that_ happen? 

“Mornin’, beautiful,” Steve greets. Bright and chipper, and if he wasn’t in the shower, Bucky’s pretty sure Steve would be skipping over to give him a kiss. “What’s up?”

Unable to stop staring -- seriously when did Steve’s body become carved out of glistening muscles -- Bucky finally tears his gaze away with a blush. He even goes so far as to shield his eyes. 

“Uh, it’s those… I mean, the, uh… kids.” Bucky clears his throat. “The kids are up.”

Wiping some more water from his face, Steve smiles and shrugs. “Okay? So… go _do_ something about it.”

Bucky, gaping helplessly, looks over his shoulder to where the world will take him if he really needs to get two little kids ready for the day and then glances back at Steve. Chuckling at him, Steve shakes his head and holds a finger out. 

“Oh, don’t you gimme that look, mister!” he teases. “Today is _your_ day and _you_ know it. And listen, try to get Ian to daycare on time, okay?”

Without another word, he flicks some water at Bucky’s face, shuts the curtain again and goes right back to singing -- or Steve’s version of singing. 

Sulking slightly, Bucky inches his way to the first bedroom down the hall. Ian’s, from the look of it. There’s a wooden crib and a plastic jungle gym. Across from the gym is a changing table and there’s stickers of trains and planes and cars all along the wall. 

The little boy is standing in the crib with a big frown on his face, a few tears slipping down his round cheeks and the second he spots Bucky he’s holding his arms out for him. 

“Uh… hey, there… little fella,” Bucky says as he makes his way over to the crib. “How’ya… doin’?”

As soon as Bucky is close enough, Ian’s tiny fingers are wiggling as he opens and closes them. He’s making a noise that sounds a lot like he’s saying the word _up, up, up_ over and over again. Bucky breathes out slowly and slips his hand under Ian’s arms, gently lifting him out of the crib, but is much too nervous to do anything more than hold him at arm’s length. Strange given he _has_ held his nephews before. 

This is different though. This baby thinks _he’s_ his dad or papa or whatever. Plus, this is _Steve’s_ baby. What if Bucky holds him the wrong way and screws him up forever? Isn’t there some proper way to hold a baby’s head? Is Bucky holding him right? Oh, shit, is the baby’s head gonna fall off?

Bucky glances around the room, trying to figure out what to do next. The baby’s got his fingers in his mouth and is smiling at Bucky anyway, so he’s gotta be doing something right. That diaper can’t be all the comfortable though, so Bucky takes him over to the changing table and lays him down.

The pants come off easy -- luckily Ian’s wearing a two piece pajama set. But then Bucky just stares at him, not really looking forward to the next part. From the smell alone, he’s not going to enjoy this. 

It occurs to him, standing there shifting his weight from foot to foot as he tries to figure out how to get through this, that while he’s held his nephews and even fed them, he’s never done _this_. Bucky whines every time he attempts to move in for the plastic tabs, chickening out at the last second each time. Until he notices someone come into the room with him. Sarah. Who hugs the wall and eyes him warily as she makes her way to the plastic jungle gym where she sit on top and watches. 

Now that he has an audience, and he’s already scared the poor thing yesterday, Bucky sucks it up and tries to just get this over with. He rips open the tabs. And gags, his eyes watering and nose burning. It’s ridiculous, he knows that. What he imagined in his head isn’t nearly as bad as what he finds when he opens the diaper, but this is _not_ the highlight of _any_ part of his life, really in _what_ life could _anyone_ want this?

“Holy _shit_.” Bucky gags some more as he takes the diaper off. “What are we _feeding_ you?”

Just standing there with the dirty diaper, not sure what to do with the damn thing, Bucky turns around in circles. There’s a garbage downstairs in the kitchen, and he even makes to leave for it, only that would mean leaving Ian unattended on the changing table. Not exactly the best of choices. 

It’s not until Bucky notices Sarah’s lifted her arm that he realizes she’s actually pointing at something -- the tall bin on the floor at other end of the changing table. Bucky steps down on the pedal of it and, when he look back at Sarah gets a nods from her, he stuffs the diaper in there. 

Bucky knows he’s got to clean Ian up now, but it’d be helpful if he knew where everything was. He innocently turns back to Sarah. Nibbling on his lip, he gives her something of a pleading look as she once again points out what he needs. 

The package of baby wipes on the second shelf of the changing table. Ian wriggles and squirms the whole time. Kicking his chubby legs and laughing as he stuffs his whole hand in his mouth. 

“C’mon, little dude,” Bucky sighs. “If you’d just hold still, I can get a diaper on you. If I…” He takes a slow, nonchalant glance over his shoulder again. “Knew where they were.”

Sighing, Sarah points again, this time to the top drawer and, sure enough, there’s a whole package of diapers. Bucky has a bit of trouble with which way the damn thing is supposed to go, but he manages and when he’s folded the tabs in place and pulled Ian’s pants on, Bucky lifts him up and smiles at himself for a job well done. He even gives Sarah a proud grin, though she doesn’t look nearly as impressed.

“You’re not really my Papa,” she sighs, “are you?”

Grin fading, Bucky stammers a bit and puts Ian back in the crib.

“What’re you talking… of course, I… why would you…” Bucky sighs and shakes his head. “No, I’m not,” he admits. “I work on Wall Street. In the city? Y’know, the place with the really tall buildings?” He holds his hand up to demonstrate. “I live in an apartment with a doorman and I have everything I’ve ever wanted and if I don’t have it I can buy it. I can buy almost anything I want.” Bucky pinches between his eyes. “This isn’t my life. This is just a glimpse.”

Her little face pinches into a sad, almost frightened glower when she whimpers, “But where’s my _real_ papa?”

The poor thing looks so worried and lost. She must not be too old that she doesn’t believe the truth for what it is, but she must also know that no one will believe her if she tries to tell them. Sarah even eyes the door like she’s considering making a run for it. If Bucky was any good with kids he’d be scooping her into his arms and holding her until she felt safe and secure again. Since that’d just make things worse now, he’s sure, he opts for standing stiffly on the other side of the room.

“Um, I don’t… I dunno.” He reaches out for her, no more than an intended gesture that goes no further than a reach. “I’m sure wherever he is, he loves you and he’ll be back really soon.” 

He’d better be. There’s only so much of this life Bucky can take. Ten minutes into day two and Bucky’s already blown his cover. If the failure version of him screwed up badly enough that _this_ is his life Bucky isn’t about to fix it for him. 

Slowly, cautiously, Sarah gets off the jungle gym, and, never taking her eyes off of Bucky, comes closer. She says nothing, not even when Bucky asks what she’s doing. All she does it take the little stool and pull it over so she can stand on it. Once she does, she gives Bucky a little tug on the arm so he can bend over and she can start inspecting his face close up. She squeezes his nose and opens his mouth and has him stick out his tongue for her. She looks closely at his eyes and even checks the insides of his ears. 

“Can I ask what you’re doing?” Bucky finally asks as she turns his chin this way and that. 

“They did a good job,” she admits with a little nod.

Bucky shakes his head. “Who did?”

“The aliems,” Sarah says, mispronouncing the word but still completely sure of herself. “On the mothership. You look just like him.”

“Oh. Thanks.” Bucky quirks his mouth up in a slight smirk. “I’m slightly better looking though, right?” Though he’s only trying to make her laugh, it must be the wrong thing to say. Sarah’s face crumples and tears gather in the corners of her eyes. “Oh, no, no…” Bucky holds his hands out to sooth her. “You’re not gonna… I didn’t mean… I’m sorry. You’re not gonna cry, are you?”

She swallows hard and takes in a deep, wet breath, sniffling slightly as she does. Sarah takes a look over at Ian, who’s currently occupied with a brightly painted toy truck that’s lighting up in all sorts of colors. When she looks back at Bucky, she folds her lips in.

“Do you like kids?”

“Um… on a case by case basis.” He bobs his head. “I wanted them once.” _With your Daddy_. But he leaves that part out. “I just never did.”

“Can you make chocolate milk?”

Bucky gives her a crooked smile. “Kid, you’re talking to the youngest vice president of Stark Industries ever.” When she just stares at him, clueless to what he’s talking about, Bucky’s smug grin falls and he just nods. “Yeah, I think I can figure it out.”

“You pwomise you won’t kidnap me and my brodah?” she asks. “And plant stuff in our brains?”

“Yeah.” Bucky thinks on that a little harder. “Sure.”

A sweet, innocent little smile pulls up on her face as she holds her hand out to him. Bucky looks down at the presented gesture and takes it, shaking hands with Sarah.

“Welcome to Earf,” she says. 

With Sarah’s assistance, Bucky’s able to navigate through the morning without any major blunders. By navigate, it means just that. She takes him by the hand and guides him down to the kitchen where she proceeds to tell him who they are, what to do, and how to do it. 

Downstairs, they’re met by Captain, whose claws click and clack against each and every hard surface they come in contact with, even when she pauses to gobble down her meal of dried Kibble and Bits. 

Bucky learns that Sarah is Sarah Grace, she’ll be seven-years-old in May and is in the first grade in Miss Klotz’s class where they’re not allowed to have peanuts because Billy Lenier is allergic to peanuts otherwise his face will _blowed up_. Sarah’s favorite food for lunch is a cheese sandwich, but her favorite, _favorite_ is salami. As she talks, Bucky notices that some of her “Rs” she pronounces as “Ws”. 

“But that doesn’t matter right now,” she says as Bucky tries to get Ian into the highchair. “Here…” She picks up the right straps and shows him where they go. “Right now it’s breakfast time.” 

“Right.” Bucky gives a few tugs on the highchair’s tray to make sure it’s secure. “Breakfast.”

“Cheerios are up there.” Sarah points to the cabinets. “Those’re for Ian. He’s gots bowls and spoons just for him in there.”

Waffles are for her. Not _Papa’s_ pancakes -- Bucky still has no idea what that means -- _those_ are for special occasions and Sarah forgives the _aliems_ for not making him know how to make those. Frozen waffles will do anyway. Provided Bucky doesn’t make a disaster of the kitchen while trying to do something as simple as heat up frozen waffles which is _not_ as easy as it sounds. 

Not when the toaster is on top of the refrigerator and several pieces of mail fall all over him and the first two outlets he tries don’t work at all. When he finally gets the damn thing turned on -- after several swears and Sarah scolding him for saying bad words -- Bucky’s got one waffle good to go and another burned to a crisp.

“Uh…” Bucky scratches the back of his neck as he places the meal in front of her. “How’s that?”

“S’alright.” She shrugs. “For your first try. Needs syrup though.”

Bucky nods, thanks her for cutting him some slack and then turns in a circle to find the syrup. It takes a bit of searching, and Sarah just pointing and saying “No, _that_ shelf,” but he finally finds the bottle and squirts some over her waffles. Apparently, he doesn’t do it the right way though. Burning the waffles is one thing. Not putting the syrup on correctly -- which means filling every little square -- is not something she’s ready to tolerate. 

“Wait!” Sarah exclaims when Bucky tries to find something for himself to eat. “You gots to cut it for me!”

Looking down at her waffles all neatly coated with syrup and then back up to her, Bucky twists his lips and shakes his head. Baffled by her request.

“But then why did you want me to fill it the syrup up like that?”

“Because it looks pretty.”

“But if I cut it, it’s just gonna spill syrup everywhere.”

“If you don’t cut it how can I eat it?”

Mouth dropping open in some attempt to argue further with a six-year-old -- who could clearly very easily give him a run for the money at work -- he gets out a syllable or two before snapping it closed again. 

“Okay. Fine.” He stands up straight and holds his palms out it surrender. “I’ll cut your waffles.”

Big, pleased smile on her face, she shimmies about in her chair as Bucky cuts up her waffle. Over on the other end of the counter is a coffee maker -- thank _god_ for small miracles -- that Sarah warns him to unplug the toaster before using it.

She goes on to say that Ian is “eight million months years old” which Bucky takes to mean as eighteen months since she adds he’ll be two in May. He goes to daycare while Daddy and Papa are at work and he likes Lightning McQueen and Ladybug and Cat Noir. Bucky doesn’t have much time to worry about a toddlers favorite fictional characters are -- he knows one of those, not the others -- while he’s trying to get the right dosage of milk to formula in the baby’s bottle. 

Tomorrow, according to Sarah, Steve will be doing this part, getting the them both ready for the day and making the breakfasts and lunches -- “Lunchboxes are in the front hall! I’ll get them!” -- so that Bucky can get a little extra sleep. 

“But--” Bucky glances up at the ceiling -- Sarah’s gaze follows -- where he can clearly hear Steve moving around up there. “Then, what’s he doing up already?”

Sarah shrugs as she continues stuffing her face full of syrupy waffles and getting her hands and face all sticky.

“Papa says Daddy’s a morning person and that morning peoples are brights on society.”

“Are brights on--?” Bucky’s confused expression clears and he let’s out a soft chuckle as he rummages through the fridge for the salami meant for Sarah’s lunch later today. “Oh. You mean _blights_.” 

Once he’s gotten the kids’ lunches packed up -- Sarah’s plain salami sandwich and baggie of pretzels and two boxes of fruit punch in a Batgirl lunchbox, and Ian’s pasta pick up squares (yuck), and yogurt snack and bottle of milk in a Lego’s lunchbox -- Bucky searches through the kitchen for something _he_ might have for breakfast. Options, so far, seem to be frozen waffles or frozen pancakes or cereal or toast. Oh, and Poptarts. Fabulous.

Although, Bucky does remember seeing some eggs on the inside of the fridge door. Maybe he can whip up some scrambled eggs. Can he _make_ scrambled eggs? Just… scramble them, right? Add some milk? Oh, what the hell, he can wing it. 

Except when he opens the door this time, he notices the brown paper bag with a Post-it stuck to it. On the Post-it is Bucky’s name and a little message that reads _leftovers for my love :)_ Last night, the only thing that got him through without tearing his hair out was that eggplant parmigiana those people served with supper. He learned later on that Peggy and Angie prepared it. Good thing they’re the one’s who run the diner, it was the best thing out there. 

Bucky pulls the paper bag out to check inside. Sure enough, a portion of eggplant parmigiana is tucked in a small plastic tupperware. Just for him. 

“Oh, _shit_ ,” Bucky mutters as he swirls around. The coffee brewer is spitting out coffee and Bucky grabs the first mug he sees -- a big one that says _Thank you for loving me even before my coffee_ \-- and more than half the Cheerios are on the floor around Ian -- which Cap is just _loving --_ as is the bottle, so Bucky picks it up, washes it off, and catches it just before Ian tosses it again. “Sarah, does your papa usually make breakfast for your daddy?”

She’s in the middle of trying to suck off the syrup on her middle finger of her left hand and shrugs as she pushes away from the table. All ten fingers and her lips are sticky with the stuff. 

“Sometimes.”

“No, wait!” Bucky exclaims and shudders when he hears the bottle hit the floor again. “Where’re you going?”

“To get washed!” she calls as she runs out of the room, leaving Bucky without his assistant, and a six-year-old assistant is better than _no_ assistant. 

Bucky pleads with Ian several times to stop tossing things off his tray, but all that ever results in is getting giggles and for Ian to slam his hands down and make _more_ bits of cereal fall onto the floor. At least Bucky doesn’t have to clean all that up. Captain takes care of it just fine and then sits diligently by the highchair for some more. 

After failing to reason with the baby, and threatening to glue the bottle to his hand doesn’t work, Bucky gives up and just concentrates on making scrambled eggs for him and Steve. Which, within seconds of cracking two eggs into a frying pan and having to fish three shells out, he realizes is a huge mistake. 

“Shit!” Bucky squeaks when the eggs sizzle so much that drops of oil jump out and burn him and the bottoms are definitely starting to burn. “Shit, shit! You can run a damn cooperation but you can’t make _eggs_? What is the _matter_ with you, Barnes?”

“What’s all this?”

Spinning around as smoke and steam erupt from the frying pan, Bucky finds Steve coming into the kitchen wearing a robe and a smile on his face. Bucky quickly dumps the pan from the stove to the sink, letting it crash into several glasses and dishes already in there. 

“Um…” Bucky looks back at the burned eggs. The thought of upsetting this Steve twists his stomach. It’s not _his_ fault Bucky is stuck here. “Breakfast?” Steve is going over to Ian. Easily undoing the straps and lifting him out to ask how _Daddy’s big boy_ is this morning. “Isn’t that… You made me lunch, so I thought I was supposed to…”

“Supposed to?” Steve laughs and gives Ian’s belly a tickle as he comes over with him. “I made you lunch because I wanted to surprise you.” He squeezes Bucky’s face between his fingers and uses a funny voice to say, “And because I _love_ you. Right?” he asks Ian, jostling him about and making him laugh. “Isn’t that right? Don’t we love Papa? _Yes_ , we do.” Steve gives him a gentle toss. “ _Yes,_ we do!” Laughing along with the baby, Steve nuzzles a kiss to his cheek and says to Bucky, “Why don’t you get ready? Take Cap out for a walk and I’ll finish with the kids and, Bucky, did you want some eggs?”

Already backing out of the kitchen Bucky shakes his head and decides to go for a Poptart even though he always did have a love for Steve’s cooking. And that was just _dorm_ life cooking. It was a wonder what that guy could do on a stove with two electric burners and ingredients two college kids could afford tossed together at one in the morning. Chances are, it’s only improved since then. Still, Bucky figures it’s best to get out of home base and hurries to take the dog out so he can get ready for work. 

Maybe working will give him the chance to get out of his head for a little bit. Crunch some numbers, make some business deals. Feel _normal_. 

Still in these ridiculous flannel pajamas, Bucky shoves on a pair of snow boots in the front room and takes the dog for a walk, Captain chewing on her leash until they get to the end of the walkway. Along the way, they’re greeted, animatedly, by several neighbors. Some he recognizes from the party last night. 

Sam and Maria are going for a morning jog -- their breaths coming out in quick bursts of frost. They stop to ask when Steve is gonna join them again or, in Sam’s words, if he’s given up and admitted Sam just out does him. Clint is out taking his dog for a walk, too -- his oldest boy tagging along. Bucky runs into Nat and Sharon as they’re pulling out of the driveway to head to the diner and, speaking of, Peggy and Angie honk as they drive by on _their_ way to the diner. 

They all smile. They all wave. Everyone gives their neighborly good mornings. Even _Clint_ , who, back when Bucky knew him, could barely get through a morning class without an IV of coffee. 

“Come on, Cap, _please_ ,” Bucky whines after she turns in circles but barks at a squirrel running across frozen telephone wires instead of doing anything. “I gotta get outta here before this place turns me into a _Stepford_ neighbor.” 

Turns out to be a pretty good idea to let Steve finish up with the kids since by the time the dog goes and Bucky is ready -- dressed in a spiffy button-down plaid piece and a black cardigan over it that probably cost forty dollars _max_ \-- Steve is down in the front room with both kids all bundled and ready to go. Thank goodness for that. 

If not for Steve, poor Sarah would probably have a brush broken off in her curly hair instead of having it neatly pulled back and styled in a pretty half-pony tail and Ian, well, Bucky really doesn’t want to think about tearing through a toddler’s drawers trying to find what outfits match and which are weather appropriate. The thought alone is daunting enough. Bucky would _much_ rather deal with a multi-million dollar merger. 

“Alrighty,” Steve says. “Is my boy all ready?”

“Um…” Bucky looks himself over. Like last night, this is probably the best he can get. “Yeah. Yeah, I think so.” 

Strange look on his face, Steve glances up at Bucky and crinkles his nose. “Uh, I was talking to Ian, Buck.” 

“O-oh.” 

Off to the side, Sarah hangs her head and does a full on facepalm. She catches eyes with Bucky when he stretches his lips. Steve, however, doesn’t seem to have paid much attention to the little slip up. He just chuckles like it was a funny misunderstanding, rolling his eyes at Bucky with a silly grin on his face. 

“You got your lunch, sweetie?” Steve asks Sarah. Sarah has a backpack over her shoulders and her lunchbox in one hand which she lifts for him to see. “Okay, be a good girl for Papa.” He squeezes her in for a hug. “And have a good day, okay?”

Once Bucky gets his jacket on -- hat, scarf, glove, -- he stands there awkwardly by the three of them, just waiting. Is he supposed to get something? Does he have a briefcase to go to work with? Files? He’s gotta go to wherever office he works at with _something_. 

And, okay, he’s not wrong. Only twenty-seven pounds of drooling toddler isn’t exactly what Bucky had in mind, but that’s what he’s got in his arms right now and it doesn’t seem to be a mistake. At least, no one else seems to think so.

“As for _you_ , my boy.” Steve gives him a suggestive grin and eyebrow wiggle. “I’ll see _you_ for dinner.” He presses a loving kiss to Bucky’s mouth. “Love you. Have a good day, babe.”

“O-oh. Yeah. Yes.” Bucky clears his throat, dislodging the knot of tight nerves, and shifts Ian a bit so he’s got a better hold on him. “Right… back at ya?” The sharp pinch to the back of his calf has Bucky holding back a wince and a yelp. “I mean… yeah. You, too.” 

Before he can make a mess of anything else, Bucky quickly ushers Sarah out the door, trying to glare down at her for that pinch back there only she’s already giving him quite the glower. 

“Well, you weren’t _so_ bad,” she comments as Bucky fusses with the door of the van.

It takes a few more tries, but Bucky finally gets it open. He tries to pretend that little button on the keypad with the doors opening have _nothing_ to do with getting those doors open when he notices them. 

“Come on, it’s my first morning,” he replies. “I tried my--you can get in there by yourself?”

“Uh-ha. I got it. You just worry about my brodah and his carseat.” 

Like with their morning routine, Sarah helps him through getting Ian into the carseat and once Bucky gets the okay -- and backs away slowly as though somehow the straps of the seat would undo themselves and he’d have to start over -- he starts the car up. It takes a few turns of the key to get the damn thing started, but the engine finally kicks in and they can be on their way. 

For a six-year-old, Sarah isn’t so bad at giving directions, shouting to him a “go left, tuwn wight, swaight, swaight!” at the very last second, but Bucky gets the hang of his pint-sized GPS. She gets a wrong turn or two, but for the most part she directs Bucky to the daycare center without a problem. Helps that there’re signs once he makes it onto the main road. No reasons to crush her enthusiasm though so he never tells her he doesn’t need her help. Even if he wants to bash his head against the steering wheel by the third time he has to listen to _The Wheels on the Bus._

“This is where the babies go when the parents are working,” Sarah explains when Bucky pulls into the drop off area. “They’ll take cares of Ian for the day.” 

“Right. Got it.” Bucky struggles a bit undoing the straps -- _seriously,_ what is _with_ all the damn _straps_? -- but he gets him out in one piece. “I just… hand him off?”

Sarah points to the young woman already headed their way. Other parents are busy dropping their little ones off and some of them smile and wave at him and it takes all the effort Bucky has not to scoff and roll his eyes at them. It seriously feels like he’s stepped into some Leave it to Beaver episode just with a few less prejudices.

“Good morning, Mr. Barnes-Rogers,” greets the young lady coming to take Ian. “Did you and the family have a nice holiday?”

“Yeah.” Should he know this lady’s name? “Sure.” Bucky hands Ian off to her like a bag of groceries and thinks, belatedly, that’s not how Steve handed him over earlier and makes a mental note to that people don’t usually hold babies like bags of groceries, and those that do, probably shouldn’t be holding babies. “Uh… do I… get a receipt or something?”

She looks at him oddly and then laughs like he’s made a joke. “Will Mr. Rogers-Barnes be picking him up?”

Oh. Damn, no one said anything about anyone picking them up. Shooting a panicked look to Sarah, she gives him a thumbs up from within the van and Bucky looks back at the lady. 

“Yep. Steve’ll be here. Just like it’s planned. Cause that’s what we do. Me and him. Married. With kids. Here on Long Island.”

“O-okay, then.” Her eyebrows stitch and she starts heading inside with Ian. “Have a good day.” 

Bucky sighs and gets back into the car, once again having to fuss with the damn door to get it open. The very second he’s got his seatbelt on though, he’s changing the song because if he has to sit through the _Wheels on the Bus_ one more time he might dismantle the stereo system himself.

“Come on, come on!” Sarah complains in the back seat. “I’m gonna be late!”

“Okay, okay.” Bucky puts the van in drive and pulls away. “We’re going, we’re going.” Which means the library. Just another thing that has Bucky confused in this whole mess of a glimpse thing. “Wait… I thought… what happened to the first grade and Miss Klotz?”

Sarah sighs as though Bucky’s inability to catch onto things quicker than at his current pace is wildly agitating. 

“Yeah, but it’s holiday _break_ time.” She holds her hands up like this should be obvious. “I have winter camp until 4:00 and ballet until 5:30.” Sarah is taking off her seatbelt and picking up her backpack. “Mrs. Barton will take me to ballet but _you_ gots’ta pick me up and _don’t_ be late cause kids don’t like to be the last ones picked up.” 

“Don’t be late,” Bucky notes. “Good tip. Wait. Where do I go to pick you up?”

Out of her seat now, Sarah reaches between the two front seats and into the center console where Bucky’s phone -- a _super_ awesome, _two_ year old model -- is sitting and grabs it. She swipes her finger across the screen and without any difficulties at all, turns on the navigation system so she can plug in where he’ll need to go later. Before handing it back, Sarah also seems to add in a few other addresses for his use. 

“Here.” She pats his shoulder after giving the phone back. “That should get you through for some time.”

Impressed, Bucky scrolls through the list and chuckles to himself. Along with some addresses, she’s also given him phone numbers and contacts he might need. This little wiz is gonna rule the world. According to Sarah, Steve’ll be working at his office across town until around one in the afternoon before picking up Ian -- during school hours he picks them both up. 

“‘Cept on days I’ve got extra cirricula’ activities,” Sarah tells him.

On those days, Bucky’s supposed to pick her up. Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Ballet and arts and crafts in the winter and she starts soccer again in the spring. She’s gonna try basketball in the fall. Steve takes Ian to baby/parent swim classes and, apparently, _Papa_ joins the fun for a gymnastics on Saturdays. Bucky could just scream at the list alone let alone having to this week in and week out. In what world could this _ever_ be the life he signed up for? 

“Um, hey, Sarah?” Bucky fiddles with some of the buttons on the side of the door to get the window down since she’s already heading towards the library. “Where do _I_ go now?”

She turns and points at the phone still in his hands. “Big Joe’s.”

“Big Joe’s?” He looks down at the screen. Sure enough, Big Joe’s is listed there. The name flaps like butterfly wings in his mind. Kicking up some memory long forgotten until it lands. Perched right on the branch. “Big Joe’s… Big Joe’s Tires?” She nods. He shakes his head. “Wh-why?”

“Because you _work_ there,” she says as though that should be obvious. 

Stomach falling, Bucky feels faint. No, that can’t be… that can’t be right. As the glands in his throat swell ridiculously large, the inside of the van starts to shrink around him. 

“Selling… _tires_?” he asks. “That’s what I… _that’s_ what I do?” Sarah just blinks at him. “I’m a… _tire salesman._ I’m a tire salesman.”

It takes Sarah shrugging and just walking away without another word for Bucky to grasp the fact that she doesn’t really have an answer for this one. For whatever reasons -- and none, zero, zip, zilch, absolutely _none_ come to mind -- he’s working at Big Joe’s Tires. Big Joe’s Tires is the company Steve’s _dad_ owns. 

Head tossed back against the headrest, Bucky seriously considers just driving back to the house and crawling under the bed to hide for a while. The universe -- or this one anyway -- has to owe him at least that. 

He’s not sure how long he stays like that, but it’s enough time that the person behind him gets impatient enough to honk their horn and scare the shit out of Bucky. Jumping enough that he both hits his head on the ceiling and smacks his hands onto the steering wheel so that his own horn makes a noise. Bucky swears and grunts as he fumbles with the phone and pulls up the address for Big Joe’s.

“Alright!” Bucky shouts to the person behind him when they honk again. “I’m going, I’m going.” 

To the monotonous world of retail hell. If he decides not to careen off the road and into a snowbank just to avoid this. When the GPS is proudly announcing that the destination is coming up on his right, and Bucky can see Big Joe’s again for himself for the first time in eleven years, he might actually regret _not_ doing that. 

“Good _lord_ ,” he mutters. “Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me.”

This is Bucky’s idea of a freaking nightmare. Not only has he gone from having everything he could possibly ask for -- vice president of Stark Industries and on his way to being named Forbes’ Man of the Year again, proud owner of a _Ferrari,_ living in a Park Avenue _penthouse_ and could buy pretty much anything he’d want -- but now he’s found himself unceremoniously married to his college sweetheart with two kids living in a shitty little house out on Long Island. He’s driving a minivan and _selling tires_ at Big Joe’s. And it’s like they’ve personified the definition of the word cheesy, tripled it, and dropped it right here in the middle of Ronkonkoma, New York. 

Big Joe’s isn’t just a typical auto repair shop and tire shop. It comes complete with an enormous cut out of Big Joe himself over the building. There are holiday paintings in the big front windows and those crazy arm flailing guys flapping by the edge of the parking lot. Bucky can even picture some poor, sucker of an employee in a ridiculous outfit holding up a crazy sign for sales and discounts in the warmer weather. A time where he will _not_ be here, no sir, he _will_ be back to his _own_ life by that time. 

In the parking lot, Bucky finds his spot. Literally, _his_ spot. It has his name written along the side of the building and everything. J.B. Barnes-Rogers. How cute. Somehow it makes it more professional and more pathetic at the same time. 

Bucky takes another ten minutes in there. Maybe if he wishes hard enough he’ll open his eyes and find himself sitting on sweet, Italian leather surrounded by his soft, delicate down jacket and the delectable scent coffee roasted by the best maker money can buy. Instead, Bucky opens his eyes and still finds himself on cloth seats -- some of them stained with paint and juice and probably food -- in a minivan. While it doesn’t smell _bad_ it doesn’t smell particularly good either and this jacket is cotton or wool or some cheap ass material. Bucky sighs, snatches the bag with the lunch that Steve made for him, and gets out. 

People greet him as he makes his way past the garages. A ‘hey, Bucky!’ or ‘Mornin’, Buck!’ rather than the ‘Good morning, Mr. Barnes’ that he’s grown so used to. Not that Bucky’s all that big on formalities it’s just… it was nice to be respected. To be both liked _and_ respected. And for the life of him, he just can’t figure out where it all went wrong. What in the _world_ would end up leading to him working _here_ of all places? 

Bucky tries to be polite as he walks into the building, a wave here and an attempted smile there whenever anyone greets him, but his mind is just such a whirlwind of thoughts that it’s incredibly hard to focus when he’s stuck in the middle of a winter wonderland of tires and auto supplies. The entire store is done up with wreaths and garland. Strings of white lights and red bows are everywhere and signs that boast about end of the year sales. Bucky rubs his temples, already feeling the migraine.

“Bucky!” It’s Joe. Seemingly unaware of the zombie-like state Bucky’s in today. “Bucky, thank god you’re here.”

“Joe,” Bucky greets. Humdrum and out of sorts. “Good to see you, too.”

“You will never guess who I played poker with the other day.” He’s got a big smile on his face. Steve smiles a lot too, but Steve’s always had his mom’s smile. Funny. Bucky hasn’t seen Sarah around here at all. She and Steve were always exceptionally close. “Hell, you’ll never guess.”

“You’re probably right, Joe,” he mutters. “Please, don’t keep me in suspense.”

Joe let’s out a hearty laugh. “Sidney Potter. That’s _Sidney_ _Potter_. CEO of one Reliant Transport.” When Bucky does nothing but look at him, because he really has no idea what he’s talking about, Joe throws his arms out to the sides. “Reliant Transport! I’m talking about the _third_ largest trucking company and it turns out, they’re looking for a new parts supplier. Now, we can handle volume like that, can’t we, Buck? We can, right?”

Once again, Bucky does nothing but stare at him before he realizes that Joe is actually asking him whether or not his store can handle such a big client. Looks like Joe expects some sort of reaction from Bucky, which makes sense. This sounds like it’s probably a big deal, but Bucky really can’t even muster up some sort of _fake_ reaction right now. 

“I’m gonna have to get back to you on that, Joe.”

“Right.” Joe gives him fingers guns. Both of them. He was always a cornball. Steve got his mom’s smile and eyes and probably temper and sense of justice, but the cornball side of his sense of humor definitely came from his dad. “Not a problem.”

He walks away then, to go do who knows what, and Bucky just stands there. Watches customers with their red plastic baskets milling through aisles and employees trying to sell them tires and floor mats and steering wheel covers. That migraine is coming in even faster. 

“Excuse me,” he says to one of the employees on the floor after hearing the register for the tenth time. “Do I have an office somewhere? A private office?”

The young man chuckles and looks back at his clipboard. It looks like he’s taking an inventory of some sort. 

“Sure, Bucky,” he laughs. “Very funny.”

Bucky gives him another few seconds before, “Well? Where is it?”

“O-oh. It’s…” He turns and points to the back of the store. “That way. Right back there.”

Patting him on the shoulder, Bucky thanks him and heads that way. Tries to make himself appear occupied so that no one stops him along the way. Other than a few more greetings, no one actually does, and Bucky makes it to the office in the back. 

By now, he really shouldn’t be surprised by anything, and yet, closing the door behind him, Bucky’s eyes go wide when he sees the office that’s supposed to be his. The wood paneled walls. The out of date computer. The cheap desk -- cluttered with paperwork and files and a ridiculously old phone. The hideous chair. The kids drawings on the walls -- okay, those are kind of cute, even he can admit that. Even all the pictures and plaques on the walls, too. It all just _screams_ subpar. 

_I’m Bucky Barnes_ , it all shouts. _I’m a huge failure in whatever world this is and now I try to pretend to be a success by hanging pictures and plaques up on my ugly, wood paneled walls._

Groaning, Bucky rummages a bit through the desk. Goes through some invoices, ignores the stupid paper weight that says _bowlers do it in an alley,_ checks some bills. All in all, it’s not a bad privately owned business. They’re doing well for themselves. Bucky’s able to track down some old tax forms on his shitty computer and it looks like they hit some rocky times about five or six years ago, but they managed to pull through.

Then, Bucky opens the top drawer and stumbles upon his own personal checkbook. It was bound to happen. It needed to happen, eventually, if he’s gonna be around for a while. He doubts very much that _only_ Steve is handling all the bills and finances. Bucky was always better in such matters. Not that Steve can’t do them, he was accepted into Columbia Law after all. Bucky was just always a whiz at finances. There’s a reason he was picked for his internship in Russia. A reason he’s been a huge success on Wall Street. 

Bucky thumbs through the checkbook. His heart stops at what he sees. Those numbers can’t be right. He and Steve _together_ are barely making a _fraction_ of what he was making before. 

“Oh, _no_ ,” he groans, dropping the book back into the drawer and slamming it shut. “This is just… this just _great_.” 

Bucky massages his head a bit before going back to snooping. Or maybe it’s not really snooping since technically it’s _his_ office for now. What he finds in the next drawer makes him chuckle to himself. A bottle of Glenlivet rolls to the front and Bucky shakes his head. Looks like Mr. Perfect isn’t so perfect after all. Not the most expensive bottles of Scotches -- though it can get up there in price. This twelve year old bottle probably set him back about thirty dollars or so. 

He holds it up and looks at it, the liquid swishing around at just about the neck of the bottle. 

“You must’ve needed this _every_ day.” 

There’s a stupid mug on the desk that says _spooning may leading to forking_ and Bucky grabs it, first checks that it’s clean -- good enough for his use at the moment -- and pours a some Scotch for himself. Even _aahhs_ at the end, since, other than the okay coffee, this is the best part of his morning. Or, well, seeing Steve all wet and naked like that wasn’t so bad either. 

Turning in his chair, Bucky sighs and looks at all the pictures on the wall. Just like at Clint’s, most are of the kids at various events. Birthday parties and BBQs and trips to the beach. One photo in particular grabs his attention. This one is just him and Steve. No kids. No one else in focus, though there are others around them. The two of them are sitting at a table at a party of some sort. Bucky’s leaning in towards Steve. Looks like he’s telling him a something. Whatever it is, it’s making Steve smile so much his eyes are all crinkly. There’s a huge smile on Bucky’s face, too. Whatever he’s saying -- if anything at all, for all he knows, he’s just leaning in and kissing Steve -- it’s making _him_ smile just like Steve. 

Some sort of strange emotion rolls over him as he looks at the picture. At the stupid, giddy and carefree smile on his face in it. 

“What are you _smiling_ about?” he yells at it. “You have _nothing_ to smile about!” 

Scoffing, Bucky turns his attention to something else on the wall and finds one of the plaques to look at instead. The one that grabs him first is the oldest one naming him Junior Sales Associate of the Year at Morgan Stanley. Which means he was, at the very least, a broker on Wall Street at some point. In 2006 anyway. When he was named Junior Sales Associate of the Year. 

“Wait…” That can’t be right. “2006? I was… I was in Russia in oh six.” Bucky looks back at that picture of him smiling again. “You never went to Russia, did you?”

That’s it. That’s the missing piece. The thing that’s made all this possible. The one decision that changed everything. He didn’t go to Russia. Didn’t get on the plane when Steve asked him not to. And now he’s gone from having practically everything to having practically nothing. All because he let his college sweetheart talk him into staying.

But then what the hell are they doing _here_? On Long Island? Why is he working at Big Joe’s Tires? If Bucky didn’t go to Russia, he could at least still be working in finance. Steve could be a corporate lawyer. They could have _made_ something of themselves instead of living in some dumpy house, trapped in a small town and living paycheck to paycheck. 

“Bucky!” The voice over the store’s intercom has him nearly jumping out of the seat. “You’re needed in winter tires!” 

Bucky sighs and rubs at his eyes before getting up to go see whatever that’s all about. He’s lucky enough to find the same employee who pointed out his office to take him to wherever this customer is that needs his help. No need for _everyone_ in this god forsaken place to think he’s lost his mind today. 

“I was the number one Junior Sales Associate for Morgan Stanley in 2006.” he comments as they walk through the store together. The young man just glances over at him. “Did you know that?”

“Um…” He shakes his head, awkward smile dancing on his lips. “No. No, I, uh, I didn’t know that.”

Bucky nods. _Almost_ pleasantly. The title _is_ something to at least be proud of. That’s _something_ to work with. 

“I was. Really. I’ve got a plaque and everything.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and goes on thinking about why the hell Steve and him are _there_ of all places. “That’s something someone can really build on, y’know? A stepping stool for better things to come, especially with an MBA.” 

The guy taking him through the store is nodding along with what he’s saying like he just doesn’t know what else to do until he stops walking altogether and gestures to the middle-aged couple telling their kids not to climb on the tire displays -- and Bucky gets a horrible glimpse into the future of this glimpse.

“Well, here we are,” the employee -- Stan, his nametag says -- tells him. “Um… are you… are you really okay, Bucky?”

“Uh… well, I’m just… I’m very confused as to why I work _here_.”

Bucky’s looking at him like the boy -- who honestly can’t be more than twenty years old -- could have an answer for him. Really, why the hell would he know this anyway. As to be expected, the kid simply blinks at him. Opens his mouth twice before shrugging. 

“I… I just started working here two weeks ago… so…” 

“Right.” Bucky nods and then shakes his head and points to the people waiting for him. “I’ll just… I’ll go… do that thing. And you…” He points back to the to floor area. “You just go… do your thing.” 

As though that might be what this world’s Bucky would actually _say_ in a scenario such as this, Stan grins and nods and then walks away to go back to work. And Bucky, kinda sorta hating his life right now, turns towards the people waiting for him so he can trudge over there… and sell them tires. 

And then does it again. 

And again.

For the next eight fucking hours. 

Somehow, Bucky gets through the day without running away screaming. Or burning the place down, though the latter is a very close call. Between customers’ very absurd complaints and being called for the most ridiculous things, Bucky’s vowed to kiss the feet of every retail employee he ever encounters ever again. He’s sure to break that by the second store or retail place he goes to, but he does make the promise and means it when he does. He’s also changed his mind about minimum wage. Anyone willing to deal with this sort of shit deserves to be paid six figures, _easy_. No questions asked. 

By the time he’s finally leaving for the day, he’s practically sprinting for the van. In fact, he’s never been so fucking happy to get back inside of a shitty minivan. Those stupid, stained seats and cluttered back floors are a sight for sore eyes compared to eight hours of that damned store. 

Not wanting to be late to pick up Sarah -- he remembers her tip on kids not liking to be the last ones there -- Bucky’s sure not to spend any extra time on himself. He checks the phone and follows the directions she put in for him and, sure enough, finds the dance studio within fifteen minutes. Where tons of other parents are already waiting or leaving or just getting there with kids older than Sarah. 

After a few minutes he finds her class and, with a stroke of luck, it turns out he’s not the last parent there. In fact, there’s still a bunch of kids left. Enough, even, that when she spots him and says goodbye to her friends -- Bucky thinks he recognizes Clint and Laura’s daughter among them -- she gives him nod of approval when she takes his hand. Sarah even shares with him some good tips for when they get home. 

“Papa always finds Daddy and hugs him from behind,” she tells him as they drive home. “And he kisses the back of his neck.”

Bucky chuckles. “Steve still likes that?”

That was how Bucky used to sneak up on him when they were in college together. He’d come up behind him and slip an arm around his waist and press a kiss to the back of his neck. Apparently, eleven years later, it still pulls at Steve’s heartstrings. The thought is almost enough to make Bucky smile.

When they get back to the house Sarah stops Bucky from making a crucial error before he even gets a chance to greet Steve. No wet shoes on the carpet, apparently. Which is _his_ rule, Sarah explains.

“Papa has everyone take their shoes off here,” she tells them in the front room. “He hates it when people track in yucky stuffs on the carpet.”

Glancing at the old, dingy carpet, Bucky can’t fathom what the point of trying to keep it clean even is. They should just get a new one. Or pay to have a company come in and clean it. Then Bucky remembers their checking account and why they probably choose to save this carpet over getting a new one.

Bucky sighs and shrugs out of his shoes as Sarah runs upstairs to change, calling out a shout of hello to Steve. Once Bucky’s got his shoes off he stands by the bottom of the stairs for a few minutes, contemplating going up them and hiding in the bedroom for a bit or finding Steve. Not that it’s any secret where Steve is. 

There’s music and plenty of noise coming from the kitchen. Sounds of something cooking and things banging together. Ian blabbering and Steve answering him. After deciding it’s probably better to get this over with, Bucky makes his way to the noisy room. 

Ian -- who grins widely at Bucky when he slowly comes in -- is in his highchair, banging a wooden spoon against an overturned pot and Steve is at the stove. In a pair of sweats and a t-shirt that looks like it might be one size too small. Bare feet. His toes tapping on the linoleum completely out of beat to the music playing from his phone. 

Stiff and awkward, Bucky takes a deep breath and goes over to him, putting that arm around his waist like he did so many years ago. The second he does, Steve leans back and eases into his one-armed hug. Bucky’s perfectly aware that there’s a big grin on his face as he pecks an unsure kiss to that spot on the back of his neck. Steve’s skin is just as warm and soft and inviting as he remembers. 

“Mm,” Steve murmurs. “Hello.” He puts the wooden spoon he’s been using to mix up some rice to the side and turns, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s necks. “And how was your day, babe?”

“Uh…” For just a second, Bucky gets lost in those baby blues. Bright and sparkling. So vivacious and full of life. Bucky’s not sure he’s ever seen anyone look so happy. “Fine. I guess. Yours?”

Steve shrugs and somehow gets himself closer to Bucky. Like he just needs to be nearer to him and that small distance between them was too much. 

“Pretty normal. Got a new client. I think Ian is getting a new tooth.” As soon as Steve says his name, Ian drops the spoon he’s been playing with and they both glance over at him. Steve laughs. Bucky sighs. “You feeling okay, Buck?”

Facing him again, Bucky sees a bit of concern rippling through Steve’s creased eyebrows. Bucky nods and backs away. Being this close to Steve is doing all sorts of strange things to his belly. His heart, too. Which is beginning to flutter and flap, beating with a silly warmth he hasn’t felt in years. 

“No. I mean.” He shakes his head. “Just tired, I think.”

Smiling, Steve nods and takes hold of his hand, kissing Bucky’s knuckles and then, for a bit of added affection, pats them before letting go. 

“Tomorrow’s my day. You get to sleep a little more.” He turns back to the stove. “I tell you what. If you can just set the table for me, I’ll take care of getting the rest of dinner made and everything and you can just sit inside for a bit. How’s that?”

That actually doesn’t sound so bad. Nothing Bucky can’t handle. There’s just one problem. Yesterday, there were dishes on the dining room table. Now, there’s a laptop and papers and files and bills scattered across it. Looks like Steve works in there. There’s also a small table in the kitchen that could easily be used for their meals. That table is currently filled with spice shakers and cutting boards and pots and pans. 

“Uh, yeah that…” Bucky nods and is already backing out of the kitchen. “Sounds good. Lemme just… change.”

He’s pretty sure Steve says something in response. Some light-hearted remark agreeing and maybe also teasing him about not skipping out on setting the table, Bucky’s not too sure. He’s too busy sprinting up the stairs so he can ask Sarah which table he should be setting so he doesn’t make a fool out of himself in front of Steve. 

Changing also actually does sound like a good idea and Bucky ends up in a pair of sweatpants and a white t-shirt himself before going back down there to set the _dining_ room table -- _thank you, Sarah_. 

Steve’s kind enough to have already cleared his things from off the table and even brought the dinnerware out for Bucky to set. From in the kitchen, Bucky can hear Ian fussing a bit and Steve chatting away with him as he tries to cook as well. He briefly wonders if he should try to help, but since Steve’s already given him to go ahead to relax, he doesn’t bother. After setting the table, he hurries to the living room before his not-husband changes his mind and drops into the chair in front of the television. 

Right before he gets the chance to turn the tv on, though, Sarah comes into the room with a DVD in her hand and stands right in front of him with it. Hopeful expression on her face. 

“What?” Bucky asks. She hands the movie over. It’s one of those Disney sequels. “You don’t… want me to put this _on_ do you?”

The expression on her face turns slightly cunning. “That’s what _my_ papa would do.” 

For a second, Bucky can only blink at her, unsure if that’s true or if he’s being completely conned. When Sarah’s eyebrows go up a fraction, Bucky’s positive it’s the latter. He’s also positive there’s _nothing_ he can do about it and huffs as he heaves off the chair to put the damn movie on for her.

“Thank you!” she shouts as she drags a smaller chair over. Plants it right in front Bucky’s chair and happily waits for the movie to start.

It’s even worse than Bucky could’ve imagined. Maybe a regular Disney movie would be okay, but _this_ is… this is unbearable. Nauseating, even. Sarah’s enjoying it. Reciting words and even laughing like she’s heard these mind-numbing jokes for the first time. 

Brow resting in his hand, Bucky wonders if he can talk her into watching something a _little_ better than this when there’s suddenly a hand on his shoulder. He jerks up to see Steve standing next to him. The TV is off, Sarah’s chair is put back, and there’s a Wonder Woman blanket over Bucky’s thighs. 

“Dinner’s ready, babe,” Steve says, softly. Smile on his face as he nods down to Bucky’s lap. “Looks like Sarah tucked you in.”

“What?”

He glances at the blanket and realizes he must’ve fallen asleep. Even for just twenty minutes or so. 

“Come on.” Steve holds a hand out. “Kids’re waitin’.” 

Almost patiently. Their little voices are asking for food. Well, Ian is just making noises, but he’s also slamming his hands down on his tray. 

Dinner is a little bit chaotic, even after Bucky’s rest in front of the television watching horrible Disney sequels with Sarah. 

The food isn’t bad -- Steve’s cooking really is just as good as Bucky remembers -- and the chicken fried rice he’s made might not be the cuisine Bucky’s hankering for, but it’ll do. Bucky even has seconds. There’s rice everywhere -- except the floor, Cap sees to that when she’s not tediously waiting for Ian to toss something from his highchair. Between Ian’s jabbering and clapping his hands down on his tray as both Bucky and Steve attempt to get him to _eat_ the food instead of tossing it everywhere and Sarah showing them what she did at winter camp and ballet it’s loud and hectic, and Bucky has the urge to cover his ears. Steve asks about Sarah’s day and Bucky’s day and says something about New Year’s plans. Apparently, Steve plans on making her costume for next weekend’s upcoming winter ballet pageant. 

Which means _after_ dinner -- and clearing the table and washing pots that can’t go in the dishwasher and making lunches for tomorrow -- Bucky’s assigned the very enjoyable task of getting Ian washed and ready for bed while Steve gets Sarah all measured for that. Getting Ian washed up and ready for bed results in more water on the floor and down the front of Bucky’s shirt than actually used in the washing _process_ and whoever decided to make kid’s pajamas with actual buttons instead of snaps, well, Bucky would like to take them out back and kick their ass for a while. Trying to get a squirming toddler into a two piece pajama set and then buttoned up is _not_ as easy as it looks. 

Somehow, Bucky manages, and then eventually makes his way to the master bedroom. After waking up _still_ in this crazy mixed up world where he, for some wild, unknown reason, is living _here_ with and married to Steve Rogers, and working eight hours in _retail_ and a hectic few hours at home, he finds himself able to just collapse on top of the bed. Finally, just a bit of time to himself. 

Sighing, Bucky snatches up the remote and takes a sip of his Snapple ice tea -- okay, not the finest drinks, but it’ll keep his thirst quenched -- as he turns on CNBC to check today’s stocks. And what he’s missed in the business world in the last twenty-four hours while he’s been busy playing house. He's been so very, _very_ attempted to call Tony or Pepper or Rhodey to check in. To explain and plead with them for a little mercy while he works through this little crisis of his. Since that'll probably just be pointless, not to mention make Bucky look like the nutty one -- and, wherever he is, be very entertaining to Eli -- Bucky just sticks to watching what's going on without him while he hopes he has some shred of a professional career left when he gets out of here. 

Nothing all that unusual has gone on, really. Ups and downs, as to be expected, especially around this time of year. Bucky’s actually feeling a little bit relaxed, a little bit _normal_ when a story comes on that makes him bolt upright. 

The news anchor starts talking about Stark Industries and Panther Inc. and their new open business trades. The business deal that’s worth a hundred and twenty-two million dollars. About eight million dollars _less_ than what it’d’ve been worth had Bucky been the architect of the deal, but that’s not even what shocks the hell out of Bucky. It’s the _who_ and the _how_ details of the deal that make Bucky wanna tear his hair out.

“When asked about opening trades with the exclusive company,” the anchor says, “Mr. Stark referred us to the original architect of the deal, Bruce Banner.”

“No!” Bucky exclaims. Points an accusing finger at the innocent screen. “That’s _my_ deal!”

On the screen now, Bruce steps up to the podium representing Stark Industries while next to him, T’Challa King, president of Panther Inc., reaches out to shake his hand. 

“Ironically,” the anchor goes on, “Banner met the president of Panther Inc. at a Lamaze class--”

“What?!” Bucky shrieks.

“--where their pregnant wives hit it off and Banner and King struck up a dialogue that led to Panther Inc. opening up trade with Stark Industries. Two months later, a deal was formed, and the original architect, Bruce Banner, lead to one of the most profitable business deals this year.”

“ _He_ wasn’t the original architect!” Bucky shouts. “ _I’m_ the architect! Me!” 

As the report goes on to say that the deal will be opening up at least three thousand new jobs, the bedroom door opens and Steve comes rushing into the room. Big, excited smile on his face. He’s dashing around the room, hurrying over to the television and without a care at all that Bucky’s watching it -- “Hey! I was _watching_ that!” -- snaps it off. 

“Listen!” He’s beaming. Positively glowing. If Bucky didn’t know any better he’d think Steve would start hopping up and down. 

“What?” Bucky asks. 

“No, just… _shh_!” Steve points to his ear and lets out a silly laugh. “Just _listen_.”

Bucky strains his ears for some sort of clue as to what the hell Steve is talking about but he doesn’t hear anything other than a car’s tires spinning in the snow outside. 

Mildly irritated that Steve’s turned off the TV on him and is now playing this strange listening game, Bucky huffs. 

“I don’t hear anything.”

Steve really _does_ hop now. As in, big, muscular body actually coming off the ground and he brings his hands in together for an excited clap. His smile gets impossibly wider. 

“ _Exactly!_ ” He darts over to the curtains and pulls them shut. “The kids are asleep.” Steve turns back around and flings his shirt off. Stares at Bucky like he’s nuts that he hasn’t started doing anything yet, but Bucky’s really got no idea what he’s getting at. “Did you hear me, Bucky? The _kids_ are _asleep_.” 

“Yeah, well, that’s nice.” Bucky’s reaching for the remote again. “Those monkeys can be a real--hey!” He exclaims when Steve starts pulling his socks off. “Please, leave my socks alone.” Steve smirks at him, eyebrows wiggling as he begins crawling over him, and Bucky's brain kindly begins to catch up. “Oh.” _Oh_. Steve’s hands slip under Bucky’s baggy shirt, bunching it up along the way and snagging, but that doesn’t seem to deter Steve in his quest to get it on. Bucky grins, sly and saucy. “You _want_ me, don’t you?”

Chuckling, Steve nods and nibbles a bit at Bucky’s collarbone. Always a weakness for Bucky. His skin shivers. 

“That is the general idea, yes,” Steve murmurs, his hot breath spreading across Bucky’s neck. He chuckles heatedly and squirms over him. “I need me some of my Bucky. Gimme that sexy body.” 

“Do you wanna, like, I dunno, get a bottle of wine or something?” he suggests. There's a liquor cabinet downstairs. Gotta be _something_ passable for such a moment in it. “Break the ice?”

Steve snorts through another laugh.

“Thanks, but in about thirty minutes you’re gonna be drooling into your pillow. I need to get while gettin’s _good_.” He makes a goofy wiggle with his hips. “But I’ll remember that for next time.” 

Smiling up at him, Bucky shrugs. Over him right now is a pretty gorgeous and very willing guy. One hundred percent his type and _very_ into him. Who is Bucky to turn away a sure thing?

“Whatever you say,” he hums. Smirk curving his lips up some more. “Honey.”

Bucky claps his hands over Steve’s ass and tugs him in closer. It pulls a startled gasp and a giggle from Steve’s lungs as Bucky lifts them both up and they fall onto the mattress, lips together and tongues beginning to taste, to explore, to tease. 

He remembers kissing Steve. The feel of his mouth against his. The sweet tenderness of his kisses. Firm and almost possessive, yet how he melts so willingly to Bucky’s lips. 

Underneath him, Steve’s body responds to his. Steve was always enthusiastic, if not a little shy about sex. Once Bucky got him all riled up though -- Bucky smirks at the thought -- he became a needy, little addict. 

One of Steve’s hands roams over Bucky’s back while the other combs through his hair, tugging him closer. Bucky’s hand finds Steve’s hip and skims the brim of his pants. Gets him trembling already, even more when he starts sucking at his neck. Steve tilts his head back. Offers more access over the soft column of his throat. The touch of Bucky’s tongue grazing along sensitive skin has Steve fighting back those whimpers Bucky always loved. 

Seems more than a decade’s worth of meaningless and random hook-ups haven’t been enough to erase Steve’s hot buttons from Bucky’s mind. He slides a hand over Steve’s thigh. Has Steve breathing out his name as he continues to just kiss and touch and tease. 

When Bucky gently coaxes Steve’s chin back towards him so they can make out some more -- cause making out with Steve has always been amazing and shame on Bucky for ever thinking he some nameless person could make him forget that -- he pauses. Even when Steve lifts his own head to continue on his own, Bucky pulls away. 

He’s just so… struck by how gorgeous Steve is. The brightness of his blue eyes, like the sky of a clear blue day. The shape and cut of his jaw when he smiles up at him. The way he lets the facial hair grow in now. The way he styles his hair -- up and away from his face. His cheekbones. There’s something different about him. Not that he _looks_ like a different person than he did back in college it’s just… 

“God, you’re beautiful,” Bucky whispers. 

A blush feathers across Steve’s cheeks. He was always bashful with flattery and he turns his face. Hides it in the fold of Bucky’s arm. 

“Thanks, Buck.”

“No, but…” He moves so that Steve’s looking at him again. “I mean, you’re really stunning, Steve.”

“This is good stuff.” A cheesy grin tugs on Steve’s lips. “I want you to keep this up.”

He goes to start kissing again, taking the compliment to heart, clearly, but still trying to move things along. Bucky’s got him hot and heavy and his words are probably only making it worse. Only Bucky can’t. Not yet. He needs to say this. To let Steve know. 

“No, no.” He sits all the way up, bringing Steve with him. “I mean it. I mean… you were always a really good looking guy in college. Cute as a freakin’ button.” 

Ever since the day he met him in class, arguing with their American History professor over the accuracy of how the subject is actually taught. Even all banged up after getting into a fight with some meathead over whatever bullshit happened. Someone being enough of an ass to someone else that Steve just couldn’t bare to keep his mouth shut. Fists would fly. Brawls would be had. And Bucky never really minded patching up his cute, out for justice boyfriend afterward, no matter what sort of lecture he’d give him while Steve just sat there. Indignant and stubborn. Even if he’d eventually soften and melt like a little puppy. Curl up against Bucky’s chest and _really_ let him tend to him. The way Steve needed. Not just bandages and ice, but a strong, reassuring presence just to hold him a bit. Always out for the little guy, no matter what sort of toll it took on him. 

“But this…” Bucky cups Steve’s face and Steve immediately nuzzles into the touch. “You’ve matured into such a… such a beautiful man, Steve. You’re just…” Bucky puts a hand to Steve’s bare chest. Feels the tone muscles and leans in to press a soft kiss. Steve really does take his breath away. “You’re beautiful.”

Steve is looking at him with startdust in his eyes. They sparkle and shine, and if he wasn’t pulling his smile in, Bucky’s fairly sure it would look like there was a hanger in his mouth. He covers his smile with both his hands, smothering a giggle down before glancing back up at Bucky through his lashes. 

“How do you do that?” he whispers. 

“Do?” Bucky asks. “Do what?”

“Look at me like you haven’t seen me almost every day for the past eleven years.” A lump forms in Bucky’s throat. He _hasn’t_ seen Steve almost everyday for the past eleven years. Bucky’s _not_ that person. “Okay, okay!” Steve is still grinning like a fool at him. Like Bucky’s done the most amazing thing and he takes hold of both Bucky’s cheeks and plants a kiss. “Just… hang on one sec, okay?” He’s getting off the bed but holds onto Bucky’s hand. Kisses that, too. “I’m gonna, like, I’m gonna freshen up. Make myself real nice for you.” He still hasn’t let go of his hand, though. In fact, he kisses his wrist this time. “Just… two seconds!”

Finally letting go, Steve flashes another big grin and then disappear into the bathroom. The bathroom sink turns on and it sounds like Steve is brushing his teeth as a cold, uneasy feeling runs through Bucky while he sits there waiting.

This is… having sex with Steve right now… it’s not right. Steve thinks he’s someone else. The man who’s loved him all this time. The man who never left him and went to Russia. The man who didn't call him and listen to him sobbing over the phone two months later while pretending he wasn't doing the same on his end. This is only the second time in eleven years he’s seen him. Bucky _did_ go to Russia. Bucky broke his heart. Bucky _doesn’t_ love him. He can’t do this. 

From in the bathroom, Bucky hears the electric razor shut off. Instead of waiting for Steve to come back out to tell him he’s too tired or some other lie to let him down gently, Bucky lays down against the pillows and pretends to be asleep. When the bathroom door opens just seconds later, he probably holds himself a little too still, but he thinks Steve may have propped himself up against the doorframe before he even noticed. 

“Bucky?” Sounds like he moves closer to the bed. “Buck?”

When Bucky goes on not answering, _sleeping_ as far as Steve is concerned, Steve lets out an amused chuckle and crosses the room again. The lights go out and Bucky feels the blankets shifting around him, then being actually placed over him. 

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” Steve murmurs in his ear. Presses a kiss to his temple. “I love you so much.” 

Steve gets into bed with him then, wrapping an arm around him much like Bucky did earlier when he got home. He even presses a kiss to that spot on the back of Bucky’s neck. Eyes opening, Bucky stares into the darkened room for a while as Steve drifts to sleep behind him, fighting the unusual urge to tuck the arm draped over him closer to his chest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and all the support and encouragement! This fic'll be getting weekly updates ((Fridays)) until it's done and in the meantime, I really hope you continue to enjoy! Your kudos and comments have been wonderful and just what I've needed to get me through the end of the year :)
> 
> Oh and for anyone who's read some of my other works before you'll know i'm a really big fan of imagery and I just sometimes can't help myself soooo...
> 
> for what I picture in this:
> 
> pre glimpse Bucky: 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> glimpse Steve:
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> and a general idea of their house:
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Hope everyone has a good time putting 2016 behind us. Burn it with fire, is what I say. 
> 
> feel free to find me on tumblr. A place for marvel and stucky and fun [thebestpersonherelovesbucky](http://www.thebestpersonherelovesbucky.tumblr.com/)


	5. Mid-January Blow Outs

Bucky’s trying. Really, he is. But after a few weeks of attempting to make heads or tails of this alternate life or glimpse or whatever it is, he’s really beginning to lose it. He has no idea what it is that he’s supposed to be figuring out, and according to Eli that’s what he’s supposed to be doing. So far, he’s no closer to that than he was when he woke up Christmas morning. In fact, all he’s closer to doing is blowing a fuse. 

Everything is just so… _wrong_ around here. So lackluster and mundane. The Monday through Friday nine to five. The picket fences even without the fences. Trips to the grocery store and ballet recitals and toddler gymnastic classes. The paycheck to paycheck lifestyle. He can’t understand how anyone, let alone _everyone_ can be so fine with it all. The fake enthusiasm he’s been able to muster up as been in really short supply lately. 

New Years was a total bust. Instead of spending it how Bucky originally planned -- at an upscale party overlooking Manhattan, sipping the finest champagne and dining on delicacies from around the world, watching the ball drop in person from the perfect view, and ending the night having casual sex with some beauty -- he spent it at a _killer_ shindig on Long Island. 

He even hosted it. Or he and Steve did anyway, at the house. With all their closest friends that Bucky had the names of but still barely knew a damn thing about. 

The Bartons showed up with their three kids, and Natasha and Sharon -- still in town for it -- brought a bread bowl. Sam and Maria came along with Peggy and Angie to help bring in all the food.

There were heroes and trays of baked ziti. Cheese and crackers and onion dip. Cut up veggies. Someone made guacamole. They even had twelve dollar bottles of Korbel champagne for midnight and a bottle of sparkling cider for the kids. 

And then they spent most of the night playing games. Pictionary. Or Apples to Apples. Or fucking _charades_. 

Instead of the glitz and glamour of an actual New Years’ Eve Party, surrounded by the dazzling lights of the Manhattan skyline and all the finest company, Bucky was stuck in a crowded living room playing fucking _games_ and eating cheap food on Long Island. 

Funny enough though, eleven years apart -- for him anyway -- didn’t seem to be enough to deter the skills Bucky needed to be Steve’s partner for those games. 

“Five words,” Bucky grumbled, trying not to sulk at the corner of the couch though no one else seemed to notice his discontentment with the night. He sighed when Steve opened his hands to give another signal. “A book.” 

Steve nodded, all excitedly, and then, instead of indicating which word he’d be acting out, he proceeded to simply point to himself and smile. When Bucky, arms pinned to his chest and scowl on his face, did nothing but lift his eyebrows a fraction, Steve huffed and rolled his hand. Pointed to himself and smiled over and over until Bucky realized what the hell it was he was getting at. 

“Oh.” He actually cracked a smile. “ _The Count of Monte Cristo_.”

“Yes!” Steve exclaimed, tossing his arms up as he bounded over to the couch and threw himself next to Bucky. “I _knew_ you’d get it!”

“No!” Clint shouted as the others all moaned in agreement with him. “How in the… no!”

Sam eyed him suspiciously from his seat. “How the hell did you get that?”

Bucky shrugged. “It’s his favorite book.” 

Everyone shouted and groaned that they were cheating and needed to be split up. The only one on their side was Nat. Who didn’t seem too keen on losing, but also was also committed to beating them at their own game, as she put it. 

In the end, it wasn’t even close. Natasha and Sharon come in second, but Bucky and Steve, much to Bucky’s surprise, blew them all away. 

That was the highlight of Bucky’s night. Winning a few lousy games of charades and a couple glasses of cheap ass champagne, because at ten minutes after twelve, everyone was out the door. Not five minutes later, Steve, head back and mouth wide open, was snoring on the couch. 

Bucky had tossed a blanket over him, turned off the tv and would’ve just gone to bed himself. Before he could, however, two big, burly arms wrapped around his waist and pulled him back onto the couch. Tucked in Steve’s arms and smooshed on the tight space, Bucky grumbled that they should just go upstairs. 

“Mm-mm,” Steve mumbled. Lips pressed against Bucky’s neck. “Too far.”

“Then _I’ll_ go. You can stay here.”

Steve’s arms got tighter. “Lonely.”

Scoffing, Bucky was too tired to actually argue, so he just shifted enough to find whatever comfort he could while squashed on the couch there with Steve until he finally fell asleep. With a big, heavy Steve draped over him, snoring away. 

He woke way too early in the morning with a stiff neck and a stiff back when Sarah came skipping down the stairs asking what they were having for breakfast. The irritation that blossomed upon waking wilted away, however, when he glanced down and found himself gazing into a pair of warm eyes. Two swirling pools of blue that peered up at him like the sun breaking over the horizon. Bucky needed a moment to catch his breath.

“Happy New Year, babe,” Steve whispered. Smiled and rolled the bottom of Bucky’s shirt up just enough that he could press a soft kiss right above the brim of his pants. Just like he used to. “Thanks for staying here with me last night.” Sarah was starting to tug at Steve’s arm. Upstairs, Ian was making noise in his crib. “Why don’t you go lay down in bed?” He sat up then and yanked Sarah onto his lap. Tickled her into squealing laughter. “I’ll take care of this one and her kooky brother.” 

Bucky watched them for a second or two. Rubbed at the back of his neck. Listened to Sarah’s happy giggles and Steve asking her what she wanted for breakfast. Then, Bucky shook his head. Knocked away the odd sensation in his heart that not fitting in in such a moment actually meant anything. It didn’t. Bucky was just here until Eli let him go home to his life. 

And after two holidays and one week, Bucky still wasn’t home. One week of diapers and bottles and six-year-old philosophy and cartoons. Of working a disgustingly horrid job in retail and living in a horribly suburban neighborhood. Of driving either a minivan or a ten-year-old Ford sedan. And Bucky was still stuck there. 

Bucky had survived a week, but what he hadn’t realized that New Year's Day was that things were barely even getting _started_. 

What he learned later was that at least once a week, Peggy and Angie stop by to take over the kitchen and come up with some new recipe for the diner which’ll end up as a special sometime in the next month. 

“Shouldn’t you be doing this _at_ the diner?” Bucky asked one night when they were over. They’re diner is called, creatively, _Cartinelli’s Diner_ \-- a mix of their last names. “Y’know… bigger kitchen? More… supplies? And… stuff?”

Over by a big pot of sauce, Angie dipped her finger into it and let Peggy take a taste. She flashed a smile at Bucky before twirling theatrically over to him -- where he sat with Ian trying, quite unsuccessfully, to get him to eat a cut up hot dog and side of beans -- and pinched his cheek. 

“You know this is the _best_ place to test our new recipes, Bucky!” she squeaked. “You have the best little critic around!”

By that, she meant Sarah, who never held back her opinion when she either really liked or disliked something when they put it down in front of her. They go to the Barton’s house for that sometimes, too. 

“Bucky, darling, if you’re not okay with us coming over anymore,” Peggy said, “We can always--”

“No, no!” Steve interrupted. “It’s not that! He…” But he must’ve rethought that because he glanced over with this disappointed look on his face. Lips all twisted around and eyebrows pulled in. Like the thought of Peggy and Angie not coming over anymore was just terrible. “It’s not, is it, Buck? Do you really not want them to come over anymore? You’ve never minded before.”

“Uh…” Bucky shook his head. “No. Of course not. I was… I was only… saying.” 

It wouldn’t really be fair of Bucky to make such decisions on behalf of the version of him who clearly _doesn’t_ mind the weekly mess in the kitchen. The pots and pans and trays all over the place while every single ingredient the two ladies bring with them are scattered across the counters. He might even enjoy the innate jabbering that goes on while the three of them -- which may used to’ve been the four of them, but Bucky’s been conveniently _busy_ the last few times -- that goes on while they’re over.

Besides, there is just no way in hell Bucky can look at Steve’s face and crush his dreams, even if they’re as simple as having friends come over once a week to cook with him. If all this poor guy gets to have is a few people over every now and then, who the hell is Bucky to get in his way. Live it up, Rogers. Or Rogers-Barnes, whatever the hell his last name is in this glimpse. 

Steve, though, being loving-husband-Steve -- if they get any more Hallmark, Bucky might punch someone -- even brought it up again after they rounded up the kids and got them in bed for the night. They had to change Ian’s diapers three times before he finally settled down and then fish through the clean laundry in the basement to find the pajamas that Sarah wanted before it finally happened, but they did it. Steve even started rubbing his shoulders and back for him when he got in the bed. 

“I didn’t mean to pressure you,” he said. “If you really don’t want them coming by anymore… I mean… you work real hard, babe.” Steve gave his shoulders an affectionate squeeze. “I’d just understand if you need a little more peace and quiet.” 

As tempting as that might've be, Bucky just didn’t have it in him to do that. He’s gonna get himself out of here as quickly as possible. His other self can deal with this failure of a life he’s built while Bucky gets on with his success.

“S’okay,” Bucky murmured and awkwardly pulled away from Steve’s gentle hands. “I dunno what I was thinking.” 

“You’ve been real quiet lately,” he pointed out, and Bucky mentally kicked himself for not playing his role well enough. “Distracted. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Bucky lied through his teeth. Didn’t even skip a beat to do it either. Just to keep Steve from being suspicious and not because he didn’t want Steve to worry, it had nothing to do with that at all. “I’m just tired.”

“Mm.” Steve picked up Bucky’s hand and kissed it. Tapped over the spot, too. “Get some sleep, babe. I’ll take care of the kids in the morning.”

It’d be a lot simpler, Bucky told himself, if he just left things the way they were. Just followed Steve’s lead, followed Sarah’s advice, kept his head down and kept quiet and he’d get himself out of here. 

Which meant not only do Peggy and Angie continue to come over about once a week, but so do Clint and Laura and their three kids. Playdates, Steve calls them. Spring, summer, and fall, apparently, these so-called playdates are a lot nicer since they can go outside, go swimming, or head to the park. In the middle of the winter, it means the kids are inside running amok and yelling and looking for something to do when they run out of ideas.

Being kind of a giant kid himself, Clint is actually pretty good with dealing with them. He’s always ready to suggest throwing the kids in their winter gear and getting outside with them to roll around in the snow -- or just roll around if there isn’t any, but this year there just happens to be an _abundance_ of the white stuff -- to get some of their energy out. 

“C’mon, kids!” he’ll shout. “No one’s strong enough to take me on!”

Somehow, Bucky and Steve are always suckered out there with them, even though it’s Clint’s idea, and _that’s_ suspiciously similar to their college years. The guy was _always_ roping them into some crazy idea. Not that Steve and Bucky didn’t get them all into their fair share of shit, but stealing a penguin from the Central Park Zoo was _definitely_ not one of Steve or Bucky’s ideas.

Laura will usually join them, though, bless her, she’s definitely the voice of reason and is there to make sure things don’t reach a defcon five level of crazy. The dogs’ll get in on the action as well, hopping around and barking happily as snow gets flung across their front yards and the kids yell and laugh and run in every direction, and Bucky just sucks it up and counts the minutes until he can just get back inside again. 

The snow that everyone was so happy to play in is one of the banes of Bucky’s existence this year. Because in this happy little glimpse, he gets the pleasure of _shoveling_ the damn stuff. And just because it isn't snowing didn’t mean he isn't outside with Steve doing _something_ he’d just pay someone to do if he was back in _his_ life. Hell, even if he _was_ stuck out there on Long Island for some reason, at least in _his_ life he could pay someone to do this crap for him. 

There’s scraping ice off the car windows and bringing in groceries. Loading and unloading the kids to and from school or bringing them to this activity or that activity. Sidewalks that need salting so they don’t freeze over in the middle of the night. And the shoveling. The shoveling and shoveling and _more_ shoveling.

The snow and ice, however, have never stopped Sam and Maria from their morning runs. They’ve even somehow managed to convince Steve back to the dark side. Again, actually. Bucky can remember Steve rising at the crack of dawn when they were in college to go running, too.

“You can come with me, Buck,” Steve used to say back then. “Get in the shower after. Get me _all_ soaped up.”

But Bucky always had the same answer for him. To roll over with a grunt and pull the pillow over his head. To which Steve would laugh at and call him adorable and be on his way. He’d usually show back up with a cup of coffee from Bucky’s favorite place. A muffin, too. The scent of both rousing Bucky from whatever light sleep he fell back into after Steve left. It never failed to make Bucky smile. 

It was an everyday thing for him during those days, but these days it’s different. These days it’s only a few times a week. Never on the weekends. On Bucky’s days to get up with the kids, Steve meets Sam and Maria out in front and goes for that run with them. 

“You know, Buck, the exercise will do you good,” Maria will sometimes say to him when they get back and Bucky’s sleepy-eyed and messy-haired. Exhausted and rushing around the kitchen in an untied robe as he tries to get Ian’s bottle ready and Cap’s food in her bowl and keep toast from burning in their crappy toaster and make Sarah her chocolate milk. “You might not need it _now_ , but it’s never too early.”

“Unless, of course…” Sam’ll give him a playful punch in the arm. “You don’t think you can keep up with us.” 

Jaw grinding, Bucky’s always so tempted to point out that he’s got a personal trainer and a gym in his building and an Olympic-sized swimming pool -- all of which _did_ take advantage of several times a week. This, of course, will do him nothing but get the pair of them staring at him like he’s crazy since the version of him _they_ know has never had _any_ of those things. 

All Bucky ever wants to do in those moments -- even though he’s very aware Sam and Maria are only teasing, and this world’s Bucky would take it with a light heart and easy going spirit, he’s sure -- is crawl back into bed and sleep for another three hours. Or hire a nanny. Or a housekeeper. 

Anyone to do all _this_ shit so he can just have a moment’s peace since something is _always_ going on around here. 

Whether the kids need to be taken somewhere or there’s some event going on or homework needs to be done or Ian is getting his little hands on something he shouldn’t have -- the dvd rack is his new favorite thing since in this household dvds are still a big thing -- or Sarah asking to be watched while she demonstrates some new dance move. Sarah’s asking Bucky to Facetime Natasha at least once a week for private instruction since she ends up falling on her butt nine out of ten times and Nat never really seems to mind being on the phone with her since it gives them all -- Steve and Sharon, too -- an excuse to talk, even for just a few minutes. But they can’t _hire_ a nanny or a housekeeper for any of those things because they can’t _afford_ it. 

It’s Steve that’s never put off by the teasing. True, it’s mostly directed at Bucky anyway, but Steve will take those moments as a chance to fling his arms around him and hug him close and kiss his cheek. Never matters _what_ Bucky’s in the middle of doing, those arms fly at him and pull him in close.

“Hey, leave my man alone,” Steve will say. “I love him no matter what.”

Bucky’s trying to get used to Steve’s love of affection. It’s strange, having someone touch him so much like this, even if it _was_ how they used to be when they were a couple. Always touching. People -- Clint and Nat mostly, now that Bucky has time to look back on it -- used to tell them to get a room all the time, even when they weren’t making out. But Bucky would be on Steve’s lap or Steve would have his head in Bucky’s or one of them would have a hand on the other no matter what. Like a recharge. No matter how bad the day got or how stress classes made them, a smile would pull up on their faces the second their hands touched. Their own personal way of touching the sun.

Still, that was a long time ago, and every time Steve surprises him like that now, Bucky stiffens and gasps quietly. And tries to ignore the unusual pull to his heart. The spin to his head. The weakness in his knees. He doesn’t want to know what all those tingling sensations mean. He’s not going to be here much longer if he can help it, so he’s always done his best to loosen up, hug Steve back, and put something of a grin on his face. 

“Uh, yeah. You, too…” Bucky’ll reply. “Baby doll.” 

If Sarah happens to be around and catches a moment like that, and Bucky’s done well, she’ll give him a smirk and a nod. One he’s sure to return. If not for Sarah, he’d’ve screwed this whole thing up weeks ago. Just the _baby doll_ nickname alone. If it wasn’t for her, Bucky would’ve never thought to’ve used it. Truth is, Bucky never _forgot_ the nickname -- no one else has _ever_ been his baby doll -- he just never thought it would make Steve smile the way it did eleven years ago. Kinda neat, that. 

Sarah’s the one who’s gotten Bucky used to their daily schedule. How they run the house. How they go through their days and weeks. Steve and him split most of the housework evenly. While Steve does do most of the cooking, Bucky takes care of most of the clean up. If Steve puts the laundry on, then Bucky puts it away. Bucky takes the trash out, so Steve takes the recycling out. They try to get sitters for when they need to go grocery shopping since dragging the kids to the store is a _huge_ hassle with the _I want that!_ and _can we get that stuff?_ as they go up and down the endless aisles. 

Sarah’s even the one who tries to get him accustomed to their more intimate of rituals. Things like Bucky coming back from work and hugging Steve from behind like that. Things like calling Steve baby doll. Things like Steve reaching out and touching him whenever he can. 

“Daddy always loves to hug Papa,” she says. “I think it gives him a superpower or something.” Sarah’s very serious when she says that. Steve’s superpower comes from physical contact with Bucky. And Bucky figures that Steve’s superpower is the ability to power through a domestic life out on Long Island. “Papa always loved it, too. So… you should get on that.”

Sarah seems to have enough trust in Bucky that the _aliems_ in the mothership who have sent him here have no malintent. She’s taken to calling him Papa in private and everything. She’s even taken to calling herself his partner-in-crime. 

Most weekends he and Steve are doing _something_ with the kids. Maybe not anything important like a ballet recital -- Sarah takes her dancing very seriously -- or a parent/baby gymnastics class, but they go sledding or to the library or out with the Bartons. Even when they’re _not_ doing something in particular, Steve is busy with arts and crafts with Sarah or finger painting with Ian. Or he’s making some new costume for Sarah or dancing around with Ian. He might just be sketching on the couch next to Bucky, but even _that_ just feels so… _not_ relaxing because Bucky’s just _waiting_ for _something_ to happen. A diaper to be changed or a homework assignment that was forgotten about. 

Steve’ll curl up in bed after a long day next to Bucky with a smile on his face and a contented sigh and even when their so-called down time _is_ interrupted, he never seems put off by it. He might groan and bury his face into Bucky’s side. Maybe get out a whine or something, but other than that, he’ll go deal with whatever needs to be dealt with and then come back and resume their, well, cuddle time. Steve’s way of recharging his superpowers while Bucky buries down whatever strange sensations having Steve close to him like that stir inside of him. 

Steve doesn’t seem to have a problem with _any_ of it. Actually, he appears to be very content. Happy, even. In fact, Bucky’s never seen someone _smile_ so much. 

In the kitchen cooking -- smiling. At the table working -- smiling. Sitting on the couch sketching -- smiling. Doing something with the kids -- smiling. Steve is almost always smiling.

Almost every morning sees Steve up in the shower and singing loud and off-key. He dances when he cooks and wiggles his hips when he cleans. Whistles when he folds laundry and lights up whenever Bucky comes into the room. He’ll get down on all fours and play with the kids and roll around on the floor with the dog. 

Even though every Sunday he and Bucky are clipping coupons from the newspapers to save a few dollars on their groceries. Even though they budget every week just so they have some spare change. Even though they live paycheck to paycheck. 

Sometimes they get to spend a little extra. They’ll go shopping for something nice or get something extra for the kids. They’ll even go out to the diner for dinner. A great joy and a spectacular outing to be able to go a _diner_. Steve actually shocked the hell out of Bucky one evening when he got home and suggested something _different._

“I got caught up with a client,” he says, bouncing a cranky Ian on his lap and doing something on his laptop. “You wanna just go out for dinner?”

Assuming that just meant heading to Peggy and Angie’s place, Bucky just sighed and went over to take Ian from him. Steve was trying to get something done and didn’t need a toddler fussing and trying to bang on the keyboard while he did it. 

“Yeah, sure.” He held Ian and pat his back, trying to get him to settle down. “Whatever you say.” 

About to just walk away with Ian to change him and whatnot, maybe tell Sarah to get changed, too, Bucky was surprised when Steve stopped him. 

“Hey, Buck? Maybe… you wanna go… _out_ out?”

Eyes wide, Bucky spun back around. “Really? Like… _out_? You wanna go… _not_ to Cartinelli’s?”

“Well, yeah.” Steve smiled. Happy, it seems, that was Bucky excited about this. “It’s been a busy few weeks. We deserve something nice, right?”

Something nice and _out_ out turned out to be Denny’s. _Denny’s_. Not even AppleBees or TGIFridays or some _other_ family style restaurant which, after thinking about it, made sense for them to have gone to. No. They go to _Denny’s_. A glorified, name-brand _diner_. Where Bucky sat with a puss on his face among shouting kids and parents telling them to behave and sticky seats just to have an _okay_ t-bone steak. It was rough. And overcooked. 

But it was a Tuesday and on Tuesdays at Denny’s, the kids eat for free. 

They do have a savings account, a nice chunk put away from over the years. Steve’s even talked about taking the kids to Disney World next summer. Bucky’ll scream if he’s still here at that time but far be it from him to deny these kids the chance to take a trip that _he’d’ve_ taken them on several times by now. They even have a college fund set up for them. Still, that bit of leeway isn’t exactly enough of a reason for Bucky to parlay into being happy and smiling all the time in this glimpse like Steve does. 

Bucky just doesn’t understand it. He really doesn’t. How can Steve be okay with all of this? Being together and married is one thing. 

During his weaker moments, Bucky might find himself admitting that being around Steve again is nice. He’ll catch himself looking at him just because he can. Listening to his voice when Steve doesn’t realize he’s there. Smiling when those big arms are just suddenly around him. Gazing into those baby blues when they wake up together in the morning.

It’s the rest of it that Bucky can’t piece together. He’s been trying to, really he has. Getting up every other morning to get the kids ready and working at Big Joe’s and playing husband and papa. But whatever it is he’s supposed to see or to figure out, is _not_ happening. 

Especially today. This Saturday at the middle of January when Steve suggested they head to the mall to take advantage of the end of the holiday sales going on. 

That’s their exciting adventure for this weekend. Fighting for a parking space in a crowded parking garage and then stuffing Ian’s baby bag into the stroller -- doubling back to the van because Sarah forgot her doll -- and then making their way through crowded _stores_ all day long. 

There’re bags hanging off the back of Ian’s stroller and Steve has some around his wrists. Sarah is holding the stuffed Moana doll she got from the Disney Store and Ian is still sucking on the pretzel they gave him an hour ago. Bucky’s got a whole bunch of bags in his hands as well as he follows like a robot, lagging behind since he just doesn’t have it in him to pretend today. He's one family outing away from blowing a fuse. 

“Okay,” Steve says as they get off the elevator in the men’s department in Neiman Marcus. They’re just cutting through the store to get to other ones. It’s not like they could buy anything in here anyway. “Just a few more stops and then we’re out of here.” 

“Mary-Janes, Daddy,” Sarah reminds him about the shoes she wants. “You promised.”

“Oh, that’s right.” He nods and looks to be rearranging things in his head. “Okay, then, so… Payless for your shoes. And we gotta swing back by the jewelers to see if my watch is done. And we need new towels for the bathroom since the ones we have are getting too ratty. We should get new sheets so we might wanna stop by--” 

“Why don’t we just go to _all_ of the stores?” Bucky snaps. It just erupts out of him and he’s unable to stop it. “Every store in this godforsaken mall?” He huffs, even if he’s got some ridiculous smile on his face. “Wouldn’t _that_ be fun?”

Steve just stares at him. Eyebrows lifted slightly and a twitch of confusion tugging at the corners of his mouth. Oh great. Bucky’s stomach fills with tension, his chest hardening like lead. Now they’re gonna fight. They haven’t fought since Christmas, not beyond a tiff here and there that Bucky’s managed to defuse with a few carefully placed words. Now he’s gone and snapped at Steve and cringes with the thought of fighting with him at all. 

Only Steve simply looks down at the kids and then back at Bucky with a nod.

“Yeah, okay.” Steve gives him another stare. “How about you stay here in the Men’s Department for a while?” he offers. “I’ll take the kids and you just…” He holds his hand out and gestures for Bucky to take a deep breath. “Relax a bit.” 

Before leaving, Steve leans in and feathers a light kiss to the corner of Bucky’s mouth. Even lets his hand slide under Bucky’s bulky jacket and linger over his hip for a moment. Bucky’s stomach begins to unclenched, his lungs letting out that tightly held breath as he starts to realize Steve isn’t mad at him. Actually, the way he looks at him now, it’s like he understands the need for a bit of alone time. What he doesn’t know is Bucky’s desire for alone time extends way beyond a little bit of time wandering around the Men’s Department. 

Watching until they’re gone, Bucky rolls his eyes at himself. They called him the Winter Soldier back in his old life and he was just about shaking in his boots at the thought of fighting with Steve. Ridiculous. He has _got_ to get a grip before he totally loses it. 

Bucky sighs and plops down on the bench by the escalators. This freaking place is hot as hell and he’s still got his jacket on since he hasn’t felt like adding that to the pile of crap he’s been carrying around all afternoon, but now that he’s sitting he shrugs out of it. The heat is probably not helping with the unnecessary crankiness of today. 

He would probably just sit there and revel in his chance to be alone for a little while -- maybe even lay down across the bench and risk trouble with security -- if the display right across from him didn’t catch his attention. Suits and formal wear. And this is a much more high-end store. Bucky’s even had suits tailored from them before. They’re practically calling to him. A sweet whisper of delicious taunting that pulls at Bucky’s legs and has him headed that way before he even really thinks about it. 

For just a little while, Bucky can pretend that outside this area is not a mall in Ronkonkoma, Long Island. He’s not gonna pile two kids into a minivan and have to drive back to a messy house and do everything all over again. He can just enjoy the smell of the rich materials around him. The feel of the soft fabric as he brushes his hand under them walking by. The sight of it all. 

A taste of the life he’s left behind and is trying so hard to get back to. This is the first time, in all this time, that Bucky’s felt close to that life. Here, among these fine suits and clothes. He’s so tired of wearing things from Target or, at best, Sears. Things that cost a whole thirty dollars. He wants better than that. _Deserves_ better than that. 

As he’s walking through, admiring the scenery, Bucky stops in front of an Ermenegiodo Zenga that just takes his breath away. It’s a stunning suit, really. Italian made, two-piece in graffiato texture. Charcoal. It’s got a notched lapel and two buttoned front. Beautiful. Simply beautiful. It’s even on sale. 

“It’s perfect for your frame,” a salesman says. Bucky didn’t even hear him come over. “Would you like to try it on?”

He knows he probably shouldn’t. It really makes no sense, but the suit is right there just begging to be tried on. There’s no harm in it.

A smirk pulls up on Bucky’s mouth, warm and familiar, as he turns to the salesman with a nod. The salesman nods back, satisfied with Bucky’s choice and the clear possibility at making a sale right now. Without having to even ask Bucky his measurements, he gestures towards the changing area just to the right of them, where there’s a small, round platform and collection of four mirrors to show off several different angles. 

Bags and jacket tossed without care into the corner of the small room he changed his pants in -- switching cheap jeans for fine Trofeo wool -- Bucky steps up onto the small platform. The sweater he’s had on has also been ditched somewhere in the changing room and he stands there, waiting, in just a cotton t-shirt as the salesman brings over the suit jacket.

The jacket fits over Bucky like a cloud. He even sighs when it’s over his shoulders and the man behind him straightens it out in the back. It feels perfect. Like _him_. Bucky turns this way and that, looking at all four mirrors so he can admire himself and how he looks _now_ , shoving how he looked just a few minutes ago -- in cheap jeans and an ugly sweater and bulky jacket -- to the furthest corner of his mind. 

“It’s very you,” the salesman offers, and Bucky would think he was just trying to make a sale if it wasn’t so true. “Some alterations may need to be done.”

“I’d take an inch out of the back,” Bucky murmurs. “Maybe a half off the sleeves.” 

Busy admiring himself and reveling in how good it feels to have a bit of _class_ back in his life, Bucky doesn’t notice that Steve’s spotted him and is coming over with the kids until he speaks. 

“Wow!” he exclaims. Bucky’s eyes find his reflection as he approaches. Steve’s got this huge, impressed grin on his face. Eyes dazzled as they look over Bucky a few times. “You look _incredible_ in that suit.” 

Grinning, Bucky flicks his gaze back to his own reflection and lets his hand slip under the front of the jacket. Something warm bursts through his belly at Steve’s compliment, almost even filling his cheeks with a blush. He likes the idea of Steve thinking he looks nice. 

“Not bad, huh?” he asks. 

“Not bad?” Steve chuckles and, Bucky thinks, checks his ass out. Even purses his lips in approval. “Amazing. You look amazing, babe.” 

“It’s an incredible thing.” He turns to the side, facing Steve now, but still looking at himself in the mirror. “Wearing this suit actually makes me feel like a better person.” 

It happens fast. If Steve’s reflection wasn’t in the mirror right next to Bucky’s he’d miss it completely, but the second Bucky says that Steve’s eyebrows pull in and he glances up at him. It’s the first time Steve looks at him like he’s actually put off by something he’s said. 

“Uh… o-okay.” Steve shrugs and the expression clears. “If you say so.” 

Bucky sucks in a deep breath, his mind made up. “I’m gonna buy it.” 

“Oh.” He chuckles softly. “Um. Okay. I guess you’ll find some reason to wear--Bucky!” He’s just flipped the price tag over. Steve’s eyes are wide. Jaw dropped. Like he’s never even imagined the cost of something being more than a couple hundred dollars. “Are you _crazy_? This is a thirty-six _hundred_ dollar suit!”

“It’s on sale,” Bucky points out. Chin lifted indignantly. “It’s only thirty-three hundred.”

Steve scoffs and shakes his head. He’s already starting to walk away with a small grin on his face like Bucky’s been joking about the whole thing. 

“Come on, Buck,” he chuckles, then says to the kids, “Your papa’s a silly guy, huh?”

Bucky has no idea why he says what he says next. It’s childish and ridiculous, but it still comes out of his mouth before his brain as the chance to filter it. 

“She got her Mary-Janes.”

He even points to Sarah’s feet since she’s now wearing the new shoes in question. Both Steve and Sarah glance down to where he’s pointing. Poor Sarah even shuffles a little so that her feet are hidden behind Ian’s stroller. Steve turns back around and huffs out another chuckle.

“Yeah, her shoes were _thirty_ dollars.” He shakes his head. Still smiling, but… there’s something a little off about it now. “Come on, Bucky. Let’s get going. We’ll get you one of those funnel cakes in the food court you really like.”

“No,” Bucky grunts as Steve starts to get them going again. 

“What?”

“I said: _no_.”

Now he’s got Steve’s full attention. Steve’s not trying to get the kids gathered together, not trying to get Bucky to take the suit off, not trying to get them to leave. He’s just paused. As though Bucky’s finally found the button he’s needed to find this whole time just to make things _stop_ for a second or two. For them at least. Maybe not the rest of the world around them since the salesman gives them an uncomfortable look before meandering away. 

Maybe this is just spiraling from his childish need to point out that Sarah got her Mary-Janes or maybe it’s a leftover eruption from the small outburst that led him to being here in the first place. Or maybe Bucky just can’t take it anymore. This whole mediocre, boring, second-rate life. Whatever the reason there’re floodgates opening and he seems a bit powerless at the moment to stop them. 

“Do you have _any_ idea what my life is like?” Bucky asks. “Hm? Do you?” 

Steve glances down at the kids and gives them a reassuring smile, like everything is fine. Bucky should probably take that as a cue to maybe knock it off, but he doesn’t. And why should he? This Hallmark version of Steve’s not gonna argue with him anyway. He just continues what he’s started. 

“Excuse me?” Steve replies when he looks back up.

“I wake up every morning covered in dog slobber.” Cap makes no secret of her excitement to get up to be walked, sometimes waking Bucky up with big dog licks before his alarm even goes off. “I _walk_ the dog _which_ , by the way, has the added bonus of getting the pleasure of carrying away her enormous _crap_. Every other day I take the kids to school and on the days I _don’t_?” Bucky pauses. He’s not sure why. All it gets him is Steve’s pursed lips and glare. “I get a whole _thirty_ minutes to myself. Then, I get to go to _Big Joe’s_ where I work _eight hours_ selling tires. Retail, Steve. I work in _retail_. I get home and play with the kids-- _if_ there’s not _some_ school or after school or _whatever_ activity going on. We do housework. We eat dinner. We watch tv and _if_ I’m lucky I get _six_ hours of sleep and then the _whole_ god damn thing starts all over again!” Bucky sucks in a dignified breath. “So… what’s in it for me? Where’re… where are _my_ Mary-Janes?”

Once again, clinging onto Steve’s hand, Sarah glances down at her feet, like she’s unsure whether or not she should be excited about her new shoes anymore. Steve, however, might not notice this time, since he’s too busy staring at Bucky. His face is a mix of emotions. Disbelief flashes across. Confusion is definitely there. A bit of hurt and sadness. Bucky’s not even sure what it really settles on. A complicated emotion, really. One much too difficult to decipher. 

“You know, it’s really sad to hear that your life is such a disappointment to you,” Steve murmurs. Soft. An edge of anger creeping in, but mostly like there’s pity lacing his words.

“I can’t believe it’s not a disappointment _to you_!” Bucky shoots back. He doesn’t need Steve’s pity. Can he be serious? _Pity_? Steve pities _him_? Sure, this Steve doesn’t know a _real_ thing about him, but… come on. “For chrissake, Steve, I could’ve been a thousand times this man I am here!” he yells. “I could’ve been one’ve the richest…! Forbes Man of the…! Stark Industries’ youngest…!” Bucky grinds his teeth and pulls at his hair. “How could you _do_ this to me, Steve?! To _us_?! How could you let _me_ give up on _my dreams_ like this, huh?!” Stomping his foot once, Bucky bends over and lets out an irritated grunt through his teeth. “Really! I wanna know! How could you let this happen?”

All that’s left on Steve’s face now is astonishment. He gapes at Bucky slack-jawed and wordless for a few seconds before folding his lips in and looking down at his feet. 

“Who _are_ you?” he mutters. “What’ve you done with _my_ Bucky?”

“Alright, look…” Bucky clears his throat. “I’m sorry.” Steve might pull out that weepy look on him, but it’s not gonna work. “I’m sorry that I was such a _saint_ before.” Not this time. “And such a _prick_ now.” As soon as he says that, Steve flicks his gaze back up at him. “But maybe I’m just not the _same_ guy as I was when we got married.” 

Head spinning and heart pounding, Bucky is actually a bit out of breath after getting all of that out. His cheeks are hot and his blood is pumping hard and fast through his veins, making it too warm in here all of a sudden. Especially when Steve doesn’t answer him. He doesn’t even acknowledge him. Instead, Steve gets down to Sarah’s level and whispers something too soft for Bucky to hear. He gives her forehead a soft peck and she switches from holding onto his hand to holding onto Ian’s stroller. 

As soon as she’s standing dutifully by the stroller like that, Steve grins at her and then turns to face Bucky, that smile disappearing completely. Oh, no. Maybe… Bucky was wrong about that whole… not arguing thing. His face is hard. Steve is livid. Completely livid. 

He marches straight over to Bucky without pause or even the slightest hesitation, and even though Bucky’s on a platform, it only puts him about a half an inch taller than Steve. That bit of taller height does nothing. With the way Steve glares at him now, that angry, disappointed crease tucked between his eyebrows, it makes Bucky feel about two inches tall. 

“You’re goddamn _right_ , you’re _not_ the same guy _I_ married,” he scolds, a low yet powerful growl through his teeth. The kids might not be able to hear, but the people who caught Bucky’s spectacle have definitely stuck around to see the end of the show. Especially when Steve’s volume begins to rise. “Because the Bucky Barnes _I_ married--” Fuck, he’s not even using Bucky’s _married_ name “--would _never_ need a three _thousand_ dollar suit to feel better about his life! The guy _I_ married is worth a hell of a lot _more_ than a three _thousand_ dollar suit anyway!” Steve throws his arms out and then ends up so close to Bucky that he jabs a finger into his chest as though trying to emphasize his point. “ _That_ guy is worth ten _times_ that amount even in a shitty suit from Sears or JC Pennys! _This_ guy?” He gestures to Bucky and makes a disgusted face and noise in the back of his throat. “I dunno about this guy and I certainly don’t want to. If this guy happens to know where _my_ husband is though, tell ‘im I’d like to have _him_ back. _He’s_ a guy worth having around.” Steve scoffs and shakes his head. “But I tell you what, Bucky, if it _really_ means _that_ much to you then _fucking_ _buy_ it. If taking almost _half_ our savings and spending it on a _suit_ is what it’s gonna take for you to feel better about your _disappointing_ life, then go _right_ ahead.”

Unable to even hold his gaze any longer, it takes Steve muttering for the kids that it’s time to go for Bucky to realize that Steve isn’t right in front of him. He’s gone back over to Ian’s stroller and has Sarah by the hand. They’re walking away from Bucky. Leaving him right where he is. Alone in his thirty-six hundred dollar suit. 

“Do I have to return my shoes, Daddy?” Bucky hears Sarah ask as they go. “Will that make Papa happy?”

On the platform, in front of all the mirrors he was happily admiring himself in, Bucky winces at the question, even if she hasn’t asked him directly. 

“No, sweetie,” Steve answers as softly as possible. There’s still a roughness to his voice, though Bucky can hear him trying to cover it so she doesn’t think anything is wrong. “Papa just isn’t feeling very good today.” 

Sighing, Bucky rolls his head back. Just a few minutes ago, he was feeling way too hot in here, his blood boiling. Now, it’s like ice, everything running too cold. He feels like a freaking scolded puppy and doesn’t know quite _what_ to do about it or how to fix it. He can’t believe he just did that. Can’t believe he just pushed Steve to that. 

“Shit,” he mutters quietly, and then looks around, realizing people are staring at him. Rightfully so. He did just put on quite a performance. “Okay, okay. Move along.” He shoos them away, expecting some time tonight to be up on Youtube. _Grown Man Throws Tantrum in Mall_. “Show’s over.” 

Bucky changes out of the suit, apologizing to the salesman for creating such a scene and for not being able to make the sale after all. The man is kind and gracious about it, and seems more anxious just to get Bucky out of the store so that he can focus on customers that _will_ be able to make a purchase, not a thing Bucky’s used to, but something he clearly needs to get himself accustomed to if he’s going to make it around these parts.

Dressed in what’re now his clothes -- jeans, sweater, bulky jacket -- Bucky grabs the bags he’s been carrying all afternoon and heads out of the store. He wonders how he’s gonna get home. No doubt Steve’s left him stranded here. After the stunt Bucky’s just pulled, Bucky can’t really blame him. Bucky’s just gone and taken every bit of discontentment and unhappiness he’s been feeling these past few weeks out on him. As if _Steve’s_ fault he’s in this mess. 

Eli said it, that night on the corner: _You just remember that you did this, Bucky. You brought this on yourself._ Bucky’s still not quite sure how, but it certainly isn’t Steve’s fault. Whatever decisions the Bucky in this glimpse made are on him, not Steve. Bucky has no right to take his grievances out on him. 

More importantly, Bucky doesn’t _want_ to make Steve upset. Mad, sad, disappointed -- whatever. Truth is, he might not understand it, but he _likes_ that Steve is happy most of the time. Likes that big, dopey smile on the goofball’s face. Likes to see his hips wiggle when he’s cleaning. Likes to hear that horrible singing when he’s in the shower. He just… _likes_ that Steve is happy. 

And now he’s gone and fucked that up.

Maybe Bucky’ll call a cab. Or an Uber. Are there Ubers all the way out here? He can get the app on his phone and check, he’s sure. Only it turns out there’s no need. Steve hasn’t left the mall at all. He’s still there with the kids, getting them in their coats and stuff, just waiting for Bucky right outside the store. 

Bucky nearly trips over his own two feet when he sees him. He thought for sure that there was no way Steve would still be there after that. But there he is, sure as day. Steve barely even glances at him, but he does see him. The only reason Bucky knows is because he says that Papa’s here to the kids and then finishes putting their hats and gloves on for them. When Bucky meekly tries to offer a hand, Steve doesn’t let him and Bucky’s stomach knots even more than it already had been. 

Once they’re all ready, Steve doesn’t say a word to or look at Bucky. He’s waited for him, sure, but he heads for the parking garage, ready to just get out of here for the day. 

The guilt that crushes down on Bucky’s lungs is overwhelming as he trails behind them. Of all the things for him to freak out over and he chooses a suit. And in the process makes a six-year-old little girl think she needs to give up the new shoes she was so excited for. Bucky’s right. He _is_ acting like a prick. He needs to try harder. Whatever it takes to make this work. Hell, this might not be the life he dreamed of -- not quite, anyway -- but he’s the youngest vice president of Stark Industries and Forbes Man of the Year… almost twice. He can play family man and play it right. 

“Papa?”

Bucky looks down at Sarah as he’s opening the door of the minivan for her. She whispers very softly, probably so that Steve doesn’t hear. Maybe she thinks she should be giving him the silent treatment, too. Bucky offers a small grin and crouches down. 

“What’s up, Sarah?”

“Do you… want me to return the shoes?” she asks. Bucky’s smile falls. “I will. If that’ll help get you your present.”

“Oh, no.” Bucky hangs his head and sighs. “No, Sarah, I don’t want that. I’m so sorry I made you think that. I was just…” He swallows the pit in his throat. Half the size of the one he’ll have when he talks to Steve. “I was being mean. That was very wrong of me to act like that, okay? You didn’t do anything and you don’t need to give back your shoes. I want you to have your shoes.”

Standing on her tippy toes, Sarah takes a peek at Steve buckling Ian into his carseat. He’s still chatting with him, but Bucky can still feel and hear the hard edge to his voice.

“But what about _your_ pwesent,” she questions. “What do you get? Won’t the _aliems_ be mad?”

“No.” Bucky can’t let her think she’s done something wrong or that anyone will be mad at her. He’ll never let a child think that just because _he_ made a mistake. “No one is going to be mad at you. And you know what my present is?” She shakes her head. “You smile extra big when you go to school on Monday wearing your new shoes, okay?” 

That already puts a big, toothy grin on her face and she nods happily. Bucky gives her head a tap before she climbs into her kid’s seat and gets her seatbelt on. Before Bucky can close the door, Sarah gives a tug on his sleeve and cups her hands around his ear.

“Daddy only yells at Papa if he’s _real real_ mad,” she whispers. “You should just say sorry and it’ll make it better.” 

Satisfied that she’s helped, Sarah gives him a little nod. Though he knows it’s a little more complicated than a simple apology, Bucky pats her head and takes in a deep breath to prepare himself for the rest. In the passenger seat, Steve’s already got himself seated and ready to go. Whatever good feelings taking care of things with Sarah gave to him completely wash away as Bucky gets into the driver’s seat next to him. 

The air is thick with tension. Steve is stiff and rigid next to him. Doesn’t even bother with the radio at all. All he does is sit there, not saying a word, not even taking a glance over at Bucky, even though Bucky keeps trying to steal glimpses over at him. 

The knots in Bucky’s stomach keep pulling tighter and tighter. Doubling and even tying into pretty little bows that do nothing to make this easier. Pretty sure he’s never even been this nervous right before making a multi-million dollar business deal, Bucky needs to wipe the sweat off the palms of his hands. Steve’s hand is resting on his thigh and Bucky takes a chance, moving to put his over it but Steve moves it away, not allowing Bucky the pleasure of doing so. 

That’s how Bucky knows it’s worse than he thought. If Steve won’t even allow him to _touch_ then he must be really fucking pissed. 

In the back seats, both the kids are passed out. Sleeping away as they drive home. Ian was out the second they pulled out of the mall’s parking lot, Sarah just a little while after that. Now that they’re asleep, the radio is off. The sun’s gone down and cones of illumination from the street lights pass over the van every few feet. Silence beats harshly around them. It hurts Bucky’s ears. The thought of going home like this kills him. 

“St-Steve?” he says. Quiet and nervous when Steve pulls his knee up to chest. 

“What?”

That’s all he gets. Not a look or even a loosen of his posture. Just a quick, harsh response that he probably deserves. 

“Um… I’m…” Bucky pulls at the collar of his shirt. “I’m sorry about… the way I acted. Back at the store. I- I… I don’t wanna fight with you.” He really, _really_ doesn’t, especially knowing he’s in the wrong. Steve can be more stubborn than anyone he’s ever known. When Steve doesn’t respond to his initial apology, Bucky knows he needs to offer more than that. “It’s just… sometimes I wonder how we ended up like this.” This could be a good way to clear the air _and_ figure some things out. Put the missing pieces together. “I mean, back in college, is this how you pictured our lives looking?”

At first, Bucky thinks Steve isn’t even gonna give him an inch. In which case, he’s gonna have to pull out the big guns on this one. Pull out roses and candies and hugs and kisses. But then Steve breathes out softly and his head rolls towards Bucky. Though he’s not quite gazing fondly at him, he’s not giving him that cold, hard glare anymore either, but all Bucky cares about is that he’s looking at him. Steve is looking at him again and dear _god_ Bucky can cry from that alone.

“Life’s thrown us a few surprises,” he admits. Not with much feeling, but he’s answering at least. “I’ll give you that.”

“Right!” Okay, yes. He can work with that. “It really has, hasn’t it?” Whoa, okay. Keep it cool, Barnes. He can do this. Steve has given him a little bit and he can run with that. “What would you say has been the biggest surprise? Just…” Steve’s eyebrows quirk up a bit. “Y’know… out of curiosity. If you had to say?”

Steve’s lips twist a little like he’s thinking about that for him. He then glances into the back seat, checking on the kids. Most likely making sure they’re really asleep. 

“Well,” he keeps his voice hushed, “Sarah’s adoption, for one.” Huh. That’s… not something Bucky expected. He had no idea her adoption was anything other than traditional. Luckily for him, Steve goes on with that life surprise. “I never expected my cousin in Ireland who I hadn’t seen in, like, five years to name me the caregiver of her child.” Bucky glances at Sarah through the rearview mirror. He had no idea. “I just always imagined adopting our first the way we did Ian. Having the time to prepare. Not suddenly having a three-month-old in our care because there was no one else to take of her.”

Glands swollen, Bucky nods. Says, “Yeah. Yeah, I can imagine how that’d be an adjust… I mean…” Steve has picked his head up to look at him. “That was quite an adjustment.”

A grin tugs at the corners of Steve’s mouth. 

“I think it turned out alright, don’t you?”

“Yeah, y’know, I _really_ like Sarah.” 

“Oh, good, Buck,” Steve says. “Maybe we’ll keep her.” 

“No! I mean…” Shit, that’s not what he meant. “I mean, I love her! I do, I…” Bucky puts a hand on Steve’s shoulder only to find that Steve has a smartass smirk on his face. Teasing. He’s just teasing him. And then, belatedly, Bucky realizes that Steve hasn’t shrugged away from his touch. Bucky could just float away on bliss. “Shut up, punk, you know what I mean.”

Chuckling, softly, Steve faces forward again and looks out the window. The tension between them, while not gone, is beginning to ease. A streak of sunlight breaking through black skies. 

“We had…” Bucky coughs a little. “We had some good times, though, right?”

They must have. They’ve stuck together for eleven years. Plus their years together in college. This time, Steve smiles softly to himself and then looks at Bucky, remember something. A good time, hopefully. 

“Remember that bakery we used to go to? The one that opened right after we got married? On Vanderbilt?” Shit. Bucky’s not gonna remember that if it opened after they got married. “You remember, right? That spot between Park and Prospect?”

“On Vanderbilt? You mean in Brooklyn?” Steve gives him a funny looking crooked grin, but then the street clicks. Steve’s talking about them living together in Brooklyn. They always said they’d go there. “When we were living in Brooklyn!” 

“Yeah,” Steve chuckles with a roll of his eyes. “That place was great.”

“It was. So was Brooklyn.” Bucky did live in Brooklyn for a while when he first got back from Russia. Over in Park Slope. He laughs like he’s making a joke. “Why did we ever leave?” 

Just like he hoped for, Steve comes back with an actual answer. One that fills in some of the gaps that’ve been plaguing Bucky for weeks.

“Ah, well, you know that place was too small to raise a kid in. And, after Sarah we decided we definitely wanted to try to adopt more so that was out. Plus, with the whole trek back and forth to the hospital every week…” Hospital? Bucky’s stomach flattens. Steve had been a sickly child. Small and thin. In and out of hospitals. More surgeries before he was a teenager than most people have ever. “I mean, the Chemo was one thing, but--”

“You had _cancer_?”

Panic rises in Bucky’s throat as a sudden urge to pull over and wrap Steve in his arms pulses through him. Keep him safe from anything that might hurt him. Even silent, invisible demons that might creep into their lives in the dead of night. 

But Steve shoots up and glares at Bucky like he might slap him. “That is _not_ funny. I’m still _so_ mad at you, so just _knock_ it off.” 

Steve’s tone of voice leaves no wiggle room. He means it completely. 

“S-sorry.” 

Sitting back against the seat again, Steve settles right away. Seems he understands that Bucky really meant no harm. In fact, he sighs softly just a minute or so later and gives Bucky the dizzying pleasure of holding his hand out for him. A smile turns up on Bucky’s lips, completely involuntary, as he lets his own fingers fit together with Steve’s. 

“You really were great though, Bucky. I dunno what I would’ve done without you.” He sighs and gives Bucky’s hand a squeeze. “When my mom got sick, that was so hard.” Bucky’s blood runs cold. If Steve’s mom was sick, went through Chemo, isn’t around… “When she died…” His voice cracks, but Steve gets through the painful emotions. “I didn’t think I’d ever get through that.” 

A rush of tears hits Bucky’s eyes. Sarah Rogers was a piece of heaven on earth. To learn that she’s gone is simply heartbreaking. And the whole time Bucky’s been here, he’s only thought of her a few times. She’s in some of the pictures in his office and, of course, at home. Her smile matches Steve’s. Always big and bright. Now all Bucky wants to do is look at those pictures. See which ones he’s in. He wishes the memories of those events would really be somewhere in his head. So he could really hold that smile in his heart. 

“I’m… Steve, I…” 

He wants to tell him how sorry he sorry he is. That the world is unfair and if anyone deserved a chance to live for years and years it was his mom. Bucky wants to hold him close and chase away any leftover pain, and realizes that’s a pain that never truly leaves. And that he’s never actually gotten to hug him, to hold him for such a thing. 

“Hey, babe, no, it’s okay.” He wipes a stray tear from Bucky’s cheek. One that’s escaped from his careful hold. “I made it through it all. You’re a big reason why.” If only that was true. Right now, Bucky would give anything to have been that person. To have been the one who held Steve though those painful times. Who Steve relied on and trusted to let those walls come crumbling down in front of. “And who knows what would have happened if you hadn’t stepped in at the store when my dad needed to take so much time off.”

And there it is. The last missing piece that suddenly falls into place. It almost feels like a lightbulb going off over Bucky’s head. 

“ _That’s_ why I work at Big Joe’s,” he murmurs to himself. 

“What?” Steve asks.

To make up for Steve overhearing that little epiphany of his, Bucky smiles and gives him a happier, more enthusiastic, “That’s why I work at Big Joe’s.” 

Steve stretches his lips a little as he looks down at his lap, as though the heavy conversations mixed with what happened back at the mall is just weighing down on him. 

“So… we ended up adopting a baby from your cousin. Your mom got sick. We bought that house, I stepped in at the store when she died, and I’ve been working there ever since. So long Wall Street.” He sighs. It all makes sense now. “Our life in a nutshell.” 

Steve lifts his chin back up. Doesn’t quite look at Bucky, but Bucky can see the deep in thought, almost perplexed expression that darkens his face. 

“I guess,” he mutters. “If you wanna look at it _that_ way.” 

“Well, how would you look at it?”

They’ve just pulled up to a red light and Steve takes the opportunity to get even closer. Seems he’s _starting_ to forgive him. Enough that Steve’ll let him wrap his arm around him when he moves in like that as he rests his head against his side.

“A great success story,” he hums. “Ongoing, but…” Steve gazes up at him. “So far so good.” 

A part of Bucky wants to scoff. Leave it to Steve, ever the optimist, to see all this -- even at the cost of so much, at the expense of what the both of them _could_ have been -- as his great success. 

Only Bucky doesn’t have it in him to scoff. Not right now. And anyway, the part of him that would is just a small part anyway. It gets smothered down by some delighted feeling the warms his belly. Touches his heart. With Steve pressed up against him like this, tucked into his side while Bucky drives the last few blocks home, Bucky finds a greater desire to smile. And to kiss the top of Steve’s head. And hug him tighter. 

“You can stop giving me that look.”

Steve says it as Bucky helps him clean up the kitchen after dinner. They ordered pizza. Bucky had offered to cook. Not that he really knows how to put together a meal for four, but he figured sucking up a little would help thaw the rest of the ice between them. Steve wasn’t _as_ mad when they got home, but he hadn’t fully warmed back up to Bucky yet. Even with Bucky’s offer to cook, Steve thought it best to just order a pie and Bucky wasn’t gonna argue. He was already in the hot seat and wasn’t about to make it worse by squabbling over dinner. 

They were okay while they ate, of course. Casual conversations and helping the kids with their meals. Sarah insisted on having her _petteroni_ stacked up like a tower and Ian picked at the cut up, cheeseless pieces off his tray. 

Throughout the meal, Bucky’d been stealing glimpse at Steve. Whenever Steve would catch him, he'd give Bucky something of a grin. The corner of his mouth curling up slightly. Not the easy, happy smiles that Bucky’s grown used to over the past few weeks.

“What?” Bucky asks. Drops his gaze down from Steve to the kitchen table as he wipes it off. “What look?”

“ _That_ look.” Steve points to him and crosses his arms with a shake of his head. “Your wounded puppy look.”

Bucky would protest -- even opens his mouth to do just that -- but he really can’t deny that that’s exactly what he’s been doing. Just like he did back in college even over the smallest of arguments. 

Sighing, Bucky stops what he’s doing and sits down at the table. Steve’s got a few dirty napkins in his hand that he’s about to go throw in the garbage, but Bucky takes hold of his wrist to guide him onto his lap. He's not met with any resistance and Steve sits willingly.

“M’sorry,” Bucky murmurs into his side. Probably the most sincere apology he's given since being here. He peers up at Steve. “Are you still mad?”

He’s giving Steve the look again. It’s almost like he just can’t help himself. The thought of Steve still being so mad at him, _especially_ when he’s so justified in his anger, makes Bucky feel about two inches tall.

“Mm.” Steve narrows his eyes at him. “I dunno. Is _my_ Bucky back?”

There’s something about Steve’s question that makes Bucky’s stomach hurt. He feels strangely off-balance. Like teetering on the edge of a cliff. Arm’s flailing, Bucky searches for some way to find his footing again. 

_My Bucky_ , Steve said. For one, crazy heartbeat, Bucky wonders what it’d be like if he _was_ that Bucky. The one that’s been with Steve all this time. The one that’s Steve’s as much as Steve is his. 

It’s ridiculous, of course, and Bucky shakes the notion away.

Bucky doesn’t have it in him to outright lie to Steve, so he hopes a smile and a nuzzle into his side will do the trick. Hopes the affection will convey what he means. That he’s going to try harder to be _like_ that Bucky at least. Bucky’s going to treat Steve right. He can get through this without breaking the poor guy’s heart again. 

Of course, Steve has no real way of knowing what Bucky means by his hug and he just sighs contently and hugs him back. He holds Bucky close and whatever leftover tension that lingered between them drifts away like the final fluffs of a dandelion being blown away by the wind. 

And, strangely enough, there in Steve’s arms, just for a moment or two, Bucky seems to find his footing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone had a great week and are headed into a fabulous weekend. Thank you for the kudos and comments :)
> 
> feel free to find me on tumblr. A place for marvel and stucky and fun [thebestpersonherelovesbucky](http://www.thebestpersonherelovesbucky.tumblr.com/)


	6. Laughter is Key

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late hour post. This week has been really rough and this chapter didn't get the best of edits so sorry if there are more errors than normal.

When Bucky makes a decision, he sticks to it. Since he’s decided to do better -- to try harder at living in this world -- that’s exactly what he’s been trying to do. The success he has in his real life didn’t just come from nowhere. It’s been earned through hard work. Perseverance. Time and patience. He has all of those things here in the glimpse -- Eli practically told him as much -- he just needs to utilize them. 

After the incident at the mall, Bucky’s been giving things around here more of a chance. There was something Steve had said to him that day that really stuck out. Struck Bucky right in the gut and, really, it’s been lingering. He’s not even sure what to make of it, but it’s twisted and coiled in his stomach and whenever he finds himself ready to blow a gasket over something like not having his suits or Ferrari or shoveling snow instead of paying someone to do it, he thinks of it. 

_The guy I married is worth a hell of a lot more than a three thousand dollar suit anyway_ , Steve had said. _That guy is worth ten times that amount even in a shitty suit from Sears or JC Pennys._

For whatever reason, Steve really thinks he’s worth a lot, even without any real success. If that’s the Bucky that Steve wants, then there’s really nothing else he can do but to give it to him. Even if that includes all the boring, migraine inducing staples of the suburban lifestyle. 

To be honest, Bucky’s getting pretty good at it -- if he does say so himself. 

He can get Ian washed up and changed in under fifteen minutes now, any baby crisis notwithstanding. He knows which foods are most likely to end up all over the floor -- broccoli is a no go, no matter what -- much to Cap’s delight, and which Ian’ll make sure to eat most of. Everyday Ian goes through approximately six to eight diapers and his favorite toy is his stuffed dog from Paw Patrol -- Bucky doesn’t have the little guy’s name down yet, but it’s the dalmatian. 

They’re trying to break him from the habit of falling asleep for the night in one of their arms, but he does go down within minutes when either Steve or Bucky rock him in the rocker and then put him in his crib. 

“You’re spoiling him,” Steve said to Bucky recently. “He’s got to start falling asleep in the crib on his own.”

“I know,” Bucky whispered as he eased Ian out of his arms and into the crib. When Ian stirred a bit, Bucky was tempted to pick him right back up, but instead just rubbed his belly a little to keep him from waking. Which he knew was likely to work. And it did. Bucky smiled at Ian and brushed a few tendrils of hair away from his brow. “But this works and he falls asleep fast and then we don’t have to worry about it.”

“Sure.” He laughed and kissed Bucky’s cheek. “ _That’s_ the reason why.” 

Of course that’s the reason why. There wouldn’t be any other reason. Sure, holding Ian and watching him drift to sleep is, well, it’s nice. Really, Bucky can’t _deny_ that. There’s something very powerful about holding him close and feeling trust, an emotion someone that young cannot possibly even comprehend yet, form between them. 

But mostly, Bucky tries to tell himself, it’s just much more convenient not having to deal with him crying and fussing for them. He falls asleep in just a few minutes in their arms. In Bucky’s arms. Ian likes to fall asleep in Bucky’s arms. Bucky’s learned how to rock the little guy to sleep. No one's gonna pay him for that, but it’s still a pretty incredible feeling.

Bucky knows that Sarah’s favorite book is _The Witches_ which Bucky was sure she was too young for, but she’ll climb into bed and have him read her a chapter every night.

“Are you really being truthful, grandmamma? Really and truly--”

“ _No_ ,” she complains when Bucky doesn’t do it to her standards. “You have to do their _voices_ , Papa!”

Bucky chuckles. “I _am_ doing their voices.”

“Nah-ah! Not the _right_ ways!” 

She huffs and crosses her arms. Bucky sighs and looks at the book in his lap before handing it to her. 

“Why don’t you show me how, then?”

Taking the book from him, she tells him to listen _carefully_ and then proceeds to read -- mostly from memory and skipping and mispronouncing the bigger words -- to him. It might not be a feat to be proud of, but Bucky smirks at being able to sometimes outwit the devious little six-year-old. Even when Steve happens to be perched against the doorframe. Watching them both and ready to come in so he can tuck Sarah in for the night.

Chocolate milk is her favorite and she’s taken to asking Papa to make it over asking Daddy. Bucky’s pretty sure he’s putting way too much chocolate syrup in, but it’s definitely kept him on her good graces. Rapunzel is her favorite princess because she likes to paint like Daddy and Merida is her second because _she’s got red hair and mine’s brown but mine’s curly and hers is curly, too_! 

She’s excelling in Ms. Klotz’s class -- which Bucky found out when he attended his first parent teacher conference. Her teacher tells him and Steve that she’s a well-adjusted, sweet, kind, and intelligent little girl. Bucky’s well aware that he can’t really take the credit for any of that -- even if he leaves that meeting all smiles and full of undeserved pride -- but it _is_ nice to know that his few weeks here haven’t done any damage. Yet, anyway. He’s keeping his fingers crossed that it stays that way. 

“We should stop at Cartinelli’s,” Bucky suggests on their way home from the school.

“Why?” Steve asks. They’re just a few blocks from where they’d need to turn to either right to the diner or left to go home. “Are you hungry? We just had dinner a half hour ago.”

“No, not for me,” he clarifies. “For one of those brownie things that Sarah likes.” When Steve glances at him from the driver’s seat, Bucky pulls a little at the collar of his shirt. “Y’know. Because…” Shit, maybe this is a really bad parenting idea. Like a bribe or something. “She’s being so good in school?”

Now that the light is green, Steve turns back to face the front again and grins. Turning right to get to the diner instead of left to get home.

“That’s a really good idea, babe,” he says.

“It…” Bucky holds in a smile. “It is?”

Steve chuckles. “Yeah! She’s gonna be so excited.”

Oh, well… that smile gets the better of him. It’s not every day he finds out that he hasn’t totally screwed a kid up _and_ came up with a good idea for her. Without thinking, Bucky puts his hand over Steve’s knee and squeezes in response to the compliment. Just a second later, Steve’s hand is in his and stays there until they get to the diner. 

Bucky dashes into the diner when they get there and is immediately greeted by the staff. Friendly faces. Warm hellos. 

“Bucky!” Angie says from behind the counter. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Bucky grins and leans against the display of desserts. “Just got back from a parent-teacher conference with Sarah’s teacher.”

“Oh?” Her eyebrows shoot up curiously. “And…?”

He just can’t help it. Whether he deserves the pride that’s running through him right now or not, Bucky just starts to gush.

“She’s doing really well!” He even chuckles. “She’s reading a _second_ grade level already, can you believe it?”

“I most certainly can,” Peggy says as she comes over from another part of the dining area. “You’re raising quite a spectacular kid.”

Except _he’s_ not. This is only temporary and Bucky needs to get a grip. There’s no need for him to get all sentimental when he’s just faking this to get himself out of here. 

He smiles at the two of them and gets the brownie quickly then hurries back to the car so they can get home. 

“Hey, Dad,” Steve greets when they walk in. Joe’s in the living room watching Nick Jr. shows with Ian, but Sarah’s not there. “Where’s Sarah?”

“Little tike put on a puppet show for me,” he tells them after they kick their shoes off and come all the way in. Ian is already holding his arms up for Steve and smiling at Bucky. “Then decided to color up in her room.”

Steve is bouncing Ian a little bit, playing peek-a-boo with him by just closing his eyes really tight and then opening them up wide again. While he plays with Ian, he calls up to Sarah and asks her to come down. 

“Can I…” Bucky clears his throat, hearing Sarah’s footsteps patter across the floor upstairs. “Can I give it to her?”

There’s a little smirk on Steve’s face when he looks back at him and when Sarah starts coming down the stairs he tells her how good she’s doing in school. That her teacher gave her such a good report and that they’re so very proud of her.

“And look what Papa’s got for you, sweetie,” he says. 

He points to Bucky with a smile. As soon as Sarah is looking at him, Bucky holds up her brownie with a timid grin. She lights up with a smile and dashes over to wrap her small arms around his legs. 

“Thank you, Papa!”

“Told you,” Steve whispers after she rushes off to the kitchen to enjoy her treat. “Great idea, babe.” 

Bucky shrugs. Tries to pull off an air of nonchalance. It’s not that big of a deal. That not big-of-a-deal, though, has something warm running through him. A touch of butterscotch and caramel, all golden and sweet, when Steve's fingers twine with his. 

He’s even getting better at the whole suburban lifestyle, too. Whenever Peggy and Angie come over Bucky either stays out of the way or even tries to make himself a little useful. The former, mostly, but if he happens to be in the kitchen, he’ll see if there’s something he can do since Steve noticed his more distanced behavior. 

“Bucky, you simply are the sweetest,” Angie will sometimes compliment if he offers his help. 

Bucky’ll shrug and lean up against the counter. Maybe even try to sneak a peek at whatever it is they’re trying to make. It might not be so bad to learn how to cook a meal or two. Couldn’t hurt. Hell, it might even be impressive. Once he returns to his life, that is. 

“I do what I can.” 

“We could use someone like you down at the diner,” Peggy teases. “Always looking for hard workers.” She turns to Steve. “How bout it, Steve? Wanna spare him a bit?”

Bucky’s busy craning his neck, wondering if they’re making a chocolate pudding dish tonight, when Steve is suddenly pulling him onto his lap, his arms encircling his waist. 

“Uh-ah,” Steve murmurs. “No way.” 

Bucky’s not even all that sure what’s happening right now. All he knows is that one second he was looking into a pot of maybe chocolate pudding and now Steve’s snuggling up to him and he’s on Steve’s lap and there’re these silly butterfly wings tickling his belly that pull this completely ridiculous smile on his face.

“What’s happening?” he asks as Steve secures him on his lap. “What’d I miss?”

Steve chuckles and points an accusing finger at Peggy and Angie. “Those two want to steal you and make you work at the diner.” 

Gasping in mock horror, Bucky hides his face into Steve’s chest and throws his legs out so that Steve now has him bridal style. 

“No!” he exclaims. “Save me, Stevie! _Save_ me!”

“Don’t worry, babe!” Steve shares in the dramatic excitement, bringing Bucky closer to his chest. “I’ll never let them have you!”

As they both dissolve into a fit of giggles, Peggy and Angie seem to agree that the two of them are too much. When Bucky lifts his head again, it’s with flushed cheeks and a smile, and he catches those two warm blue eyes he now wakes up to every morning. 

Steve’s smile turns familiar and warm, and he brushes a thumb at the corner of Bucky’s mouth. Without thinking, Bucky almost leans in for a kiss. Steve, he thinks, leans forward as well, but just before their lips can meet, Bucky realizes what he’s about to do and pulls back. 

“Bucky?”

“I should go get the kids ready for bed,” he mutters. Climbs off of Steve’s lap and almost tumbles in his haste. “Before it gets too late.” 

Catching him by the elbow, Steve makes sure he doesn’t fall and helps him stand upright. 

“Are you okay?” he asks. 

“Yup,” Bucky lies as he exits the kitchen. “I’ll be back.”

But Bucky never does go back to the kitchen. Blames it on a headache when Steve finds him in bed later. Bucky has no idea what came over him back there. All he knows is he can’t afford to let long ago instincts, the playful affection between him and Steve that once brightened him like a sun-kissed flower, get in the way of what he really wants. And that’s… that’s to go home. 

Playdates with the Bartons are still cramped indoors, but after epic outdoor battles in the snow that Bucky’ll suck up and endure when the weather allows, seven-year-old Cooper and five-year-old Lila Barton love arts and crafts. Whether that means coloring or painting, play-doh or Legos, they’ll sit for an hour or more with Sarah creating extravagant children works of art they’re very happy to display. They’ve even -- with Steve’s help -- come up with a play once or twice and built their own scenery and props for it. 

“You looked bored,” Sarah whispers after their most recent one. 

Something about knights and dragons -- it was hard to follow but they were proud. 

“Oh.” Oops. Bucky started falling asleep until Steve elbowed him in the ribs. “No, I… I’m…” 

“Cooper skipped a whole lots of lines.” She shakes her head as though it’s a travesty. “But you gotta _promise_ to stay _awake_ next time _anyway_.” Her hands go straight for her hips, propping there in a very indignant way. “I’ve done a lotta work for you.” 

Bucky fights back a smile. This kid. She’s really something. He even has the urge to scoop her up the way he’s seen Steve do a hundred times a tickle her and plant kisses to her cheek while she laughs and tries to get away.

He doesn’t though. Instead, he pats her head and assures her that he’ll do better next time. 

Nathaniel Barton -- named for his honorary Aunt Natasha -- might be a few months younger than Ian, and maybe they can’t really interact with one another, but Bucky has to admit they’re pretty dang cute sitting there babbling away together. Drool on their toys. Little feet kicking back and forth. 

It’s taking some time, but Bucky’s getting used to the noise of having all the kids over at the house. He doesn’t even mind it so much when Steve gets back with Sam and Maria and they give him a few teasing remarks. 

“I dunno, Buck,” Sam comments one morning. “After that game last night…” Bowling. He’s talking about bowling and so _sue_ him, Bucky’s not a good bowler. “Maybe you really _could_ use a real workout.”

While the playfulness is there, it’s also laced with concern. A hint of it. As though Bucky’s sudden inability to bowl well actually does worry him. 

“So, I’ve had a few off games.” Bucky shrugs and flips over some bacon. It’s burning, damn it, but he gets it just before it’s inedible. “It’s not _that_ big of a deal.” 

“More than a few games, I hear,” Maria says as she snags a strip of bacon off the dish. She even grabs a piece for Sam who stuffs it in his mouth with a big smile at Bucky as he chews.

“ _Hey_!” Bucky nearly whines. Or does whine. Probably whines. It’s been a long time since he’s playfully whined. “That’s for Steve! Steve, they took your bacon!” 

Over at the table, sipping at a cup of coffee, Steve snickers, winks, and puckers his lips at him all at once.

“It’s okay, babe. They can have some.” He rests his chin in the palm of his hand. “Everyone knows you make the best bacon around.”

“Whoa, now!” Sam exclaims. “You just _wait_ until I tell Peggy and Angie about _that_ one!”

That gets a whole round of Steve’s cute pleading for them not tell them that he said such a thing, that it’s a husband thing, that they’d understand, _no,_ please, _don’t tell on me_! The three of them end up laughing and trading mock-deals, and even though Bucky stays mostly quiet and it’s his morning with the kids, he smiles as he sits back and just watches them all joke around.

Retail at Big Joe’s is horrible, no doubt about that. But Joe seems to have a lot of faith in Bucky’s ability to run his store. It might not be Stark Industries, not one of the largest, most profitable companies in the country, but it still deserves Bucky’s hard work. The kind of work he knows he can bring a lot to the table. He’s even taken a look at Big Joe’s work load and determined they probably can take on that trucking company Joe spoke to him about that first day he walked into the place. 

If Bucky’s able to land and secure the deal with this company for him, it’ll put Big Joe’s Tires at number one in their market. Forbes Magazine won’t be recognizing him for such a feat any time soon, but the bonus Joe’ll be able to give to the entire staff will definitely be something to brag about. Probably not a sizeable amount, but it’s still a bonus. 

So, maybe they don’t have enough money to hire a nanny or a housekeeper. There’s something a little adorable about watching Steve try to bust a groove and sing like there’s no tomorrow while he’s washing dishes. Yes, Bucky might need to pop an aspirin to keep his head from splitting because they still always have so much to do over the weekend and sometimes he’d much rather fake an illness than go to another after-school event, but it’s not always so bad when Sarah comes running up to him with something _so super important_ to show him. Even if that something is a twirl that has her ending up on the floor. 

“Aw, it’s okay, sweetheart,” Steve assures whenever she happens to be upset by it. “You just keep practicing. And you know Natasha will always help.”

Even Bucky’s scooped her up to help her again. Called Nat for her whenever she’s needed it, but what he really likes it watching Steve help her out.

It never fails to make Bucky smile, watching Steve with the kids. Watching Steve at all. Sometimes he just… does. Steve won’t even be doing anything in particular and Bucky will just realize that he’s there and he can look at him. 

“What?” Steve has caught him once or twice. Cracked a smile and asked the same question. “Why’re you looking at me like that?”

Bucky’s just shrugged and made himself busy. Pretended to be anyway. The truth is, he’s not sure why he stares at Steve. His eyes are just drawn to him. Always seeking him out for no real reason at all. 

Sometimes he even just sits with him. Steve won’t be doing anything in particular. Just sitting on the couch sketching or working on a new costume for Sarah and Bucky will, for some reason, crave the closeness. He won’t say or do anything. He’ll just sit down and maybe Steve’ll notice -- sometime’s he’s so absorbed in his work that he doesn’t -- and he’ll smile and it’ll make Bucky’s heart speed up. 

He has no idea why and he tries to fight it -- those urges to be near Steve, the desires that can’t mean a thing, they just _can’t_ \-- but Bucky still finds himself close to Steve. In the living room. In the bedroom. Giving him a little smooch after dinner when they’re cleaning up. Holding his hand without even realizing he’s doing it. Lingering behind him when he hugs him after work. Half the times, Bucky barely even realizes he’s doing these little things. They’re just slowly becoming commonplace. Part of his new, everyday life. 

A life he’s both getting used to contently faking his way through and desperate to get out of. 

***

The bowling alley is hot and stuffy and loud like it is every Thursday. Bowls of pretzels and cartons of gross nacho supremes are passed back and forth, and the whole place smells of stale beer. Bucky hates this place. Really, he does. 

It’s not the cheesy music they play over the speakers or the ridiculous clown shoes he’s gotta wear. It’s not the dumb league uniform shirts that have Big Joe’s logo on the back and Bucky’s name embroidered on the front. It’s not even the fact that being in this hot, stuffy, and loud place for three hours is time keeping him from relaxing at home. Curled up on the couch. Reading a book -- he can’t even remember the last time he did that -- or watching television. With Steve. 

No, what Bucky truly hates about being here in this place is that in the six or so weeks that he’s been coming, he hasn’t improved even a little. No matter what he does, he _sucks_ at bowling. Even though his personalized ball says Bucky “The Soldier” Barnes-Rogers -- an added touch from Eli, Bucky just knows it -- he can’t figure this out. Basketball he’s always been fine at and that pool in his building has turned him into a great swimmer. But bowling? Bowling fucking _sucks_. Especially when everyone else around him is really good. 

“Come on, you got this, Buck!”

Sam cheers him on, sitting in those ugly, plastic chairs, as Bucky lines up at the lane. It’s Angie at the computer tonight, which is why Bucky’s name on the screen reads as _Lucky Bucky_. Behind him, Clint gives a loud whistle through his front teeth while Peggy gives an encouraging holler. She’s got a bunch of empty beer glasses in front of her. Both she and Clint have designated drivers, but Peggy sure can hold her drinks. 

“Let’s go, Bucky!” She claps for him. 

Taking in a deep breath, Bucky sizes up the pins down at the mouth of the lane. They look a lot smaller than they really are as they wait for him to do something and when he finally does -- taking a step forward and rolling the ball across the shiny floor -- just for it to get less than halfway before rolling right into the gutter. 

Bucky grunts and swears at the ball while the pins laugh and the rest of his teammates groan and grumble back in their seats. Angie says something about changing his name from _Lucky Bucky_ to something more vulgar while Peggy just buries her head in her folded arms.

“What is _with_ you, man?” Sam asks. 

“Where is your follow through?” Clint grumbles. “What’s up with that stance? This is a _league_ match, dude! What’re you _doing_?”

“Hey, you know what?” Bucky huffs. God, he hates this. So fucking much. “I’m doin’ the best I can, _okay_?”

As he waits for his ball to come back out of the ball return -- and Clint backs off a bit, admitting he doesn’t need to be quite so competitive -- Bucky wonders why the hell Steve can’t be the bowler. He was always the competitive one. The one always more willing to be baited into a challenge. But Steve’s _not_ on the bowling team. He’s on a _softball_ team, but not the bowling team so Bucky lifts the ball and lines up again. 

“Okay,” he breathes to himself. “You’re Bucky Barnes. You’re _better_ than this stupid sport. This _ridiculous_ sport. You shot the rapids at Kenai. You ran with the bulls in Pamplona. You jumped out of an airplane over the Mojave Desert, for Christ’s sake. You can do this.” Bucky closes his eyes. “You can do this.” He opens them. “You can do this…” He throws the ball down the lane. Holds his breath. And jumps when four… no _five_ pins go down. “Yes!” Bucky pumps a fist up. “Ha! Did you see that?” he asks when he spins around. “Not bad, huh? High-five!” 

He’s holding his hand up to Sam, who’s got his lips folding in like he’s trying _really_ hard not to start cracking up at him, while the rest of them are just staring at Bucky as though he actually has lost his mind. Bucky, dumbly holding his hand out, looks back just as the rest of the pins are being knocked over by the machine so they can be re-racked. The rest of them might be getting strikes and spares, but that wasn’t so bad in his opinion. 

“You’re up, Angie,” Peggy says with a slight chuckle, giving her a swat on the butt -- for luck, as she puts it -- while she walks by.

Sam might agree with Bucky’s opinion on his last shot. Or shows him mercy anyway cause while Angie gets up to go next, he goes ahead and gives him that high-five and a pat on the back as Bucky plops into the seat next to him with a sigh. He picks at few pretzels and sips at the beer that’s already too warm, trying to ignore the fact that Angie’s first go already has seven pins down. 

“I’ll be right back,” he grunts, flinging a pretzel back into the small brown bowl. “Anyone need anything?” 

“Yeah, hey…” Clint picks up his glass and polishes it off. “I’ll take another one of those if you’re buying.”

A few weeks ago, Bucky would’ve been annoyed by all of this. A few weeks ago, he’d’ve just walked away without even bothering to tell them he was going at all let alone offer to pick up anything while he was away from their section. A few weeks ago, he’d’ve huffed and griped, even just on the inside until they were done. 

Today, Bucky snorts and rolls his eyes. Holds back a smile and makes sure he knows what it is that Clint’s drinking. He pushes away from the table and heads to the bar, glancing over his shoulder to see Angie knock the rest of the pins down. 

The bar is across the place and it’s more crowded than usual. People trying to get their last drinks before finishing up for the night. As Bucky stands and waits to get his order, he wonders what Steve’s up to, a sneaky thought that makes him grunt.

Even now, here in this hot, stuffy, and loud bowling alley, Steve sneaks into his mind. That smile. Those eyes. How he’ll find some way to touch Bucky -- to be close to him. The way Bucky responds to it, without fail, every time. Silly smile breaking across his mouth. Palms sweating like a school boy. Heart singing a fun, little song. 

“Hiya, Bucky…”

Someone saying his name shoves Steve from his mind and reminds Bucky where he really is. Bowling horribly with a group of people who pretend to be irritated about it, but, at the end of the night, aren’t. He’s got Clint’s beer in his hand, the light gold liquid capped with a thin layer of playful foam, the bubbles popping almost faster now as Bucky looks back at the pretty blonde who’s called him. He recognizes her -- the Christmas party, mostly -- even if it takes a moment to place her.

“Whitney,” he greets when her name pops into mind, courtesy of those fun little bubbles. “Right?” 

She smiles with a soft roll of her eyes like he’s only teasing her. 

“Very funny.” Whitney’s got a pair of bowling shoes in one hand. Headed over to return them probably. She’s very good looking, now that Bucky’s taking the time to admire her. Funny, he didn’t notice before. Very striking in every way. “I saw you out there on lane twenty. What’s the matter? Got the flu or something?”

The corner of Bucky’s mouth quirks up at the jesting. Is everyone in this town a professional bowler that he’s so out of place?

“Something like that,” he teases back. “Yeah.”

Whitney gives him a saucy, little grin. Almost suggestive. Her blue eyes glisten, even in the overhead lighting of this place. Those dark blonde curls sweep away from her face a bit more when she gives a little trill of a giggle. 

“Do ya need a nurse?” 

His eyebrows pull in a bit. Whitney’s said that with another giggle. With a brush of her hand over Bucky’s arm.

“Are you a nurse?”

Laughing again, this time moistening her lower lip and gazing almost heatedly at Bucky through mascara done eyelashes, Whitney shrugs a thin shoulder. 

“If that’s what you want,” she teases. Winks, too. So quickly if Bucky had blinked he’d’ve missed it. 

With one more light giggle, she tosses her hair over her shoulder and turns to leave. Bucky, however, puts a hand gently over that shoulder she shrugged to stop her. 

“Whoa, whoa, hang on a sec, don’t rush off.” 

Bucky eyes her for a moment, trying to put together what he might be missing with her. Unlike most of the other people around here, Whitney is all made up, even for just a night out bowling with the girls. Hair done, make-up on, nice, pretty clothes. She even smells really nice, too. She’s the kind of lady that Bucky might pick up and ask to come home with him after a night of fine dining and wine. 

And, just like that, a gasp fills Bucky’s lungs. 

“Is there…” 

He can hardly believe he’s asking this. Could Mr. Perfect Glimpse Man really be capable of such a thing? 

Whitney turns a little more. “Is there what, Bucky?”

“Well…” He gestures between them. “Is there something going on between us?”

A smile pulls at the corners of her mouth, her eyes growing a little wide. Whitney takes a quick glance around before tucking some of those lovely curls behind her ear. 

“Are we… finally being honest?”

A wave of exhilaration washes over him. It’s been weeks since he’s had someone look at him like this. Both intimidating and desirable. Doesn’t stop her pupils from expanding and his heart rate from accelerating. 

“It would help me a lot if we were,” he says. “Yes.”

Another smile dances upon her mouth, that twinkle in her eyes beginning to brighten to a light smolder. With the right touch -- a few careful words and suggestions -- it just might kindle and spark into a flame.

“Okay, you’re right. We’ve been dancing around this for years.” A blush runs across her face and she takes in a deep breath. “Right then. Here goes. When I get dressed for a party, and I know _you’re_ going to be there…” The tip of her tongue grazes her upper lip. “Let’s just say I don’t go strapless because my husband likes it. I have six sets of snow tires in my garage and I won’t even _drive_ in the snow and our kids just happen to be in the same dance class every year.” Eyes never leaving Bucky’s, Whitney clears her throat. “So, if you’re asking if I’d like to be more, the answer is yes. No one would ever have to know.”

Bucky runs his fingers through his hair. It’s not done nearly as nice as he knows it can be and he’s wearing this ridiculous bowling shirt and a pair of jeans that he’s pretty sure are starting to rip and this very beautiful woman is _very_ interested in sleeping with him. A smirk turns up on Bucky’s mouth. 

“Can I call you sometime?” he asks. 

Her eyes burn with excitement. On the table next to them is a paper napkin and from her purse Whitney pulls out a fountain pen that she uses to write a number down on the napkin. When she’s finished, she slides it towards him. 

“Calvin is taking the kids away this weekend,” she tells him. “If you wanna use that… well…”

Giving him another golden smile, Whitney turns and finally walks away. Bucky can’t tell for sure if she does it for his benefit, but the way her ass moves in those pants is just fabulous. 

That napkin with her number is still on the table he’s standing next to. Bucky smiles down at it and he slips it into his pocket. He didn’t even have to do anything to get this. It’s been weeks, but it’s nice to know that he’s still got it. Enough that a beautiful woman just gave him her number just like that.

Still holding Clint’s beer in his hand, Bucky finally makes his way back over to the lane everyone else is at. 

“What happened?” Clint asks when he gets his drink. Looks like the game is officially over. Finally. “You get lost?”

There’s way too much of a great feeling still lingering through Bucky to let anything get to him right now. The fact that this Whitney -- bold, beautiful, classy -- wants him, it’s really just the ego booster he needed. Bucky just shrugs. 

“Nope.”

“What’s up then?” Sam asks while Peggy and Angie change out of their bowling shoes. “You got this… _glow_ going on.”

Bucky smiles. “I feel good.”

“Oh, yeah? That seventy-one really took at lot outta ya, huh?”

Up on the screen, Bucky’s measly score sticks out likes a sore thumb among upper one-hundreds but, damn it, he’s proud of it. 

“ _No_.” He tries to make himself sound irritated, but he’s not. Sam’s a good sport and it’s all in good fun and Bucky ends up scoffing a laugh anyway. It’s been a long time since he’s had the easy going back and forths between the camaraderie of friends. “I ran into Whitney Frost.”

“Ah.” Sam nods like he now understands exactly what kept Bucky. “Boy, when she has a goal, huh?”

That napkin with Whitney’s number on it sings like his own dirty little secret in his pocket. He even almost takes it out to show it to Sam. Sharing the fact that he got a beautiful woman’s number with his cool, new buddy. Only Sam hits him with something that shatters the whole thing, shards of glass falling away like pieces of Bucky’s broken ego. 

“You might be a fine piece of ass,” he comments, “but anyone with eyes can see you’d never cheat on Steve.”

The whole world caves in on Bucky, crashing down all around him, with that one simple observation. That’s exactly what he’d be doing. Glimpse or not, Bucky is married to Steve here. Sweet, wonderful Steve who smiles all the time and dances when he cleans and sings off key in the shower and touches Bucky whenever he can. They’re married. 

Bucky can try to make all the justifications he wants. Say that it doesn’t count. The rules are different for him. This life really isn’t the one he made. None of that matters. 

All that matters is Steve. The heartache that Bucky would cause here the same way he caused in the life he knows. Bucky broke his heart in one world. He’d just be doing it again in this one, too. 

 

The thought of it actually makes Bucky feel sick to his stomach. Of messing up so badly here that Steve no longer looks at him like he’s the sun. Of not being able to say some silly, little thing about people stealing the bacon he’s making for him and have Steve laugh and blow him a kiss in response. Of Steve not pulling him onto his lap just to hold him close and people joking about how ridiculous they are. 

It’s crazy, these thoughts. This isn’t Bucky’s life and he’s really just playing along to get back to the one he belongs in. Where the sleek, clean rooms of his modern penthouse wait for him instead of that cluttered, dated house. Where he’ll finally be back to his high-end job, back to making a name for himself in the business world and back to making _real_ money, instead of selling tires eight hours every day in _retail_. Where he can just get back to _his_ life and not have to think about these things at all. 

The napkin in his pocket now weighs a ton. Bucky can swear it’s even shouting out to everyone else around him so they all know he has it. No one is even paying any closer attention to him than usual. Sam even claps him on the back, Clint gives him an enthusiastic kiss on the cheek and both Peggy and Angie hug him as the part ways for the evening. 

_This is stupid_ , he thinks as he drives back to the house. _I haven’t_ done _anything_. 

By the time Bucky gets back, he parks in front of the house and gets right to pulling the garbage cans to the front curb. Thursdays, when he’s bowling, Steve’ll toss the bags in, but leave the pails for Bucky. 

Once he drags them out, fussing with them a bit to stand them up straight since there’s a slight incline, he glances over his shoulder, worried some nosy neighbor might be watching. Bucky takes the napkin out of his pocket and stares at the numbers written across his. His thumb runs along the black writing, mind wandering to the woman who gave it to him.

It’s been weeks since he’s hooked up with anyone. The night before Christmas Eve. This weekend, he could use this number and remedy that with a gorgeous woman who makes herself look nice even just to go bowling and who wants him. His dick stirs at the thought. Until Bucky glances back at the house. Warm and inviting. Where Steve, who he might not _really_ be married to, but is good and kind and goofy, is inside. Who looks at Bucky like he’s the man who didn’t leave him eleven years ago. Just because Bucky’s _not_ that man doesn’t mean he can stomach the thought of hurting this Steve. Who’s beginning to make Bucky’s heart flutter any time he even enters his mind.

Closing his eyes, Bucky crumples the napkin in his hand and shoves it in the trash. He has no use for it. And never will. 

The second he puts the lid back on the trash can, Bucky feels better. Lighter. A smile almost touches his lips. There’s piece of chocolate cake that Bucky’s been saving for himself in the fridge. He’s excited for it. Besides, when he walks in through the back door, what he sees makes him laugh. 

Steve is at the kitchen table. Donning a pair sweats that are all cut up at the bottom and mismatched socks. A sweatshirt with one sleeve rolled up and the other down by his wrist. He must’ve taken a nap -- laid down on the couch at least -- since one side of his hair's all messy. There’s a whole load of files in front of him and he sighs as he does something on his laptop. Even rubs at his neck and eyes. Steve did say he had some more work to get done. He looks tired and like he just wants to be done already. 

Not wanting to disturb him, Bucky closes the door softly. It also gives him a chance to just watch him for a moment without being noticed. 

There’s absolutely nothing glamorous about him right now. Nothing that would even make him stand out. In fact, Steve’s kind of a mess. Hair all disheveled and clothes that don’t even match. His knee is bouncing and he’s yawned -- wide-mouthed and without bothering to cover -- more than once. Bucky thinks he even may have picked his nose. 

Whitney Frost, on the other hand, when thinking back on it, has never been out without a full face of makeup and hair up and a nice outfit on. Bucky most clearly recalls her at the Christmas party, but he can remember glimpses of her at other things that he’s been around for. She probably spends a lot of time to make herself look so nice. Bucky hopes that it makes her feel good about herself, he really does. She really is a beautiful woman. 

But looking at Steve now, Bucky realizes something he hadn’t before. Steve might not go out of his way to always look his best, but here, at least, at home with Bucky, he’s never afraid to show himself to him. Bucky’s seen Steve’s beauty. Bucky’s seen his youth. And now, Steve’s allowing him to see the parts that aren’t so pretty. A mismatched, disheveled man who sits at the kitchen table to do work and must forget how to use his mouth since he goes to take a sip of his coffee, but spills it down the front of his shirt. And instead of using something to actually clean the stain off, Steve just brushes the excess liquid off with his fingers.

Bucky can’t help but laugh. The laugh gives him away of course, that he’s standing there watching Steve, but all Steve does is look over, his chin resting a bit on his shoulder. He smiles as Bucky steps further into the kitchen before going back to his work. 

“Hey, babe,” he greets. Sounds like he’s eating something. “How was the game?”

“Uh…” Bucky’s shrugging out of his coat and flinging it over the counter. He’s already going straight for fridge. “Long and boring.”

“You do any better tonight?”

Bucky rolls his eyes as he starts moving things around on the colds shelves, looking for that pieces of chocolate cake he’s dying for. 

“No.” 

“Dunno why you bothered with bowlin’ in the first place.” His mouth is full. Steve always did stuff his face and go right on talking. “Should’ve just stuck with me and played softball.”

Unable to help it, Bucky peers over the top of the door to glare at him a bit. He grumbles to himself about hating bowling, but for some reason, Bucky can’t pry this stupid grin off his mouth either. It’s tight and pursed since he’s doing his best to hold it back, but it’s there anywhere, and Bucky sighs before resuming his epic quest to find his damn piece of cake. 

“Hey,” he murmurs to Steve after he’s searched the high and low of three near fully packed shelves of perishable foods and still has no cake. “Where’s my cake?” Out of the corner of his eye, Bucky sees Steve look down at something on the table and then back up at him. “It was in here before and now I can’t find it.”

“Do you mean…” Steve waits for Bucky to look over before lifting the plate with what he’s been eating. “ _This_ cake?”

Sure enough, on the plate is Bucky’s three layered chocolate cake. Chocolate batter. Chocolate fudge. Chocolate icing. Only a little bit of it’s gone. Maybe a quarter of it as Steve’s absently been eating _Bucky’s_ cake while he makes his way through his work. 

“That’s my cake,” Bucky huffs. “I was saving it since I was too stuffed to eat it at _Cartinelli’s_ the other night.” 

“Ah.” Steve nods once and touches his finger to his chin. “Would that be the same night _you_ were being a grump and just _couldn’t_ help get the kids ready for bed?”

Shit. He’s right. After dinner at Peggy and Angie’s diner that night, Bucky had been particularly grumpy -- pout on his face and everything -- and just face planted into his pillow. Refused to move after that even though Ian was cranky and Sarah still had homework to get done. 

“I…” Bucky clears his throat. “I walked the dog.” He dragged himself off the mattress for that much. Doesn’t seem to hold much weight for him now since all Steve does it lift his eyebrows and makes a show of scooping another piece into his mouth. “Totally unfair.” He sulks when Steve licks chocolate off his lips at him. “It’s _mine_ and I _want_ it.” 

“I can see why,” Steve says right as he swallows that piece. “This is really good.” 

Bucky sucks in a heavy breath full of mock-irritation. There’s Steve, sitting there at the table eating _his_ delicious piece of chocolate cake that he’d been saving and instead of actually being irritated, Bucky finds himself simply pulled in by that little dimple in Steve’s cheek when he smiles at him like that. The charm this man exudes -- charm Bucky’s sure Steve has no idea he even gives off -- is so enticing, so _intriguing_ , that Bucky moves towards it. Feels the pull of it drawing him in more and more. Bucky was always powerless against it. 

Closing the refrigerator door, Bucky purses his lips at his husband and clicks his tongue as he strolls closer to the table, arm stretched. Now he can see what he missed before. Where his piece of cake has been hidden this whole time on the other side of Steve’s arm.

“Gimme that cake, Steve.”

“No way,” he replies. Pulls the plate further away from Bucky with his approach. “This is way too important to me. It’s gonna get me through all this tax stuff.”

Tax stuff? Bucky takes a quick glance at the screen Steve’s working on. Sure enough, he recognizes the forms he’s filling out. He had to know them back when he was first getting started. This is the kind of thing that Steve would be paying an assistance to do if he wasn’t a non-profit lawyer, and, to be honest, Bucky could probably breeze through it right now.

“ _Steven_ ,” Bucky warns. Takes another step towards the table. “Don’t make me--”

“Don’t make you what, _James_?”

The air around them buzzes with life. With a playful energy that tickles Bucky’s insides and brings another smile to his face. There’s a dare all over Steve’s face, his grip getting tighter around the edge of the plate. This little fucker knows what Bucky’s gonna do before Bucky even does. 

Eyes locked with Steve’s, they keep very still for a few seconds until Bucky lunges forward, reaching for the plate with his cake. Steve, however, is faster and hops up with the plate in hand as laughter rolls out of them both. 

The chair topples over and a few papers skitter to the floor in Steve’s haste to get away, but neither of them do anything about it. All Bucky notices in the moment is Steve’s carefree expression. The laughter that bubbles up when he turns back as Bucky chases after him through the dining room to get his cake.

“I want that cake!” he shouts and hears Steve laugh again, but instead of following, Bucky turns on his heels and doubles back, cutting through the living room and jumping out at Steve right before he can get to the stairs. “Ha, ha!”

Cheeks red and laughter bursting from his lungs, Steve skids to a stop and swirls around to run back the way he came.

“You can’t have it!” he squeals as he tries to get away. “It’s mine now!”

“Not if I catch you!” 

Steve makes it halfway into the living room before Bucky snags the back of his shirt to pull him close. His arm snakes around Steve’s waist and pins him against his body. Steve squirms, trying to both get away from Bucky’s tight hold while also not drop the plate.

“ _No_ …” Steve struggles a bit more but nearly doubles over laughing. “You’re not getting it!”

Lips pressed to the side of Steve’s neck, Bucky snickers and locks him in place. He nuzzles his nose into the spot he remembers was always a hot spot for Steve. Not because it turns him on -- though Bucky knows plenty of places for that -- but because it makes him squeak and jerk around. 

“Oh, no!” Steve laughs. “No, Bucky, don’t tickle me!”

“No?” Bucky hums and doesn’t quite let up so Steve is still squirming in his embrace and holding in anxious giggles. “I think you should gimme that cake then.” 

Steve side-eyes him and gives a stubborn sulk. Tenacious. Always was when he really put his mind to something and right now, even under threat of Bucky tickling him, he’s still got something up his sleeve. 

“You mean…” He lifts the plate for Bucky to see clearly. “You want this cake?”

Bucky opens his mouth to reply, but before he even gets a syllable out, Steve is shoving a chunk of it right into his face. Chocolate fudge and frosting smear all over his face, pieces of cake falling to the floor while Steve simply cannot get a grip. Head back against Bucky’s shoulder and tongue pinched between his teeth as giggle after giggle rolls through his lips. 

“Thank you,” Bucky chuckles as Steve goes right on laughing. “How very kind of you.” 

“S’good, right?” Steve manages to get out. 

“Very. Have some.”

Bucky takes what’s left on the plate and smears it right across Steve’s mouth. Some of it makes it in, but Steve’s surprised gasp sees most of it falling right back out anyway. He’s been laughing this whole time but the stunned look on Steve’s face makes having to clean this mess up completely worth it.

Bucky holds Steve even closer and buries his face between his neck and shoulder, while Steve reaches around to hug him that way. The plate is lost somewhere to pillows -- crumbs and everything -- when they topple onto the couch together. A pile of rosy cheeks and laughter as Bucky makes an even bigger mess of Steve’s lips and cheeks and chin by kissing all over. 

“Bucky!” Steve squeaks and can’t seem to come up with anything else to say since that’s all that keeps coming out. “Bucky!”

“What?” Bucky snickers. “I thought you _liked_ my chocolate cake.” 

“I do, I do!” he exclaims through more laughter when Bucky goes back to kissing him all over again. “It was _delicious_!”

“Yes,” Bucky agrees. “I _know_ it was.” 

Looking down at him -- at Steve smiling back up at him -- Bucky’s heart pulses, his blood racing in a brand new way. Or maybe an old, familiar way. All he knows is he’s compelled to lean in and kiss Steve. He’s not sure he’s ever actually done that since this glimpse started. They’ve kissed, of course. Out of habit and to keep up the pretense of a marriage on Bucky’s end. But here, right now, with Steve’s eyes bright and smile big, all Bucky wants to do is kiss him. Kiss Steve. With his messy hair and mismatched clothes and chocolate covered face. 

Bucky moves without even thinking about it. Without the commands of his brains. All the emotions that gather like the sun in his chest push him forward and he’s catching Steve’s mouth with his. He runs fingers through Steve’s hair to get more of him. Even with the taste of chocolate the most powerful thing right now, it doesn’t matter. He just wants to taste more of him. 

Under him, Steve kisses back. Open-mouthed and excited, his body moving and stirring, his hands crawling beneath Bucky’s shirt and tugging him closer as well. He makes a noise -- hot and fevered. One Bucky can remember.

They’re both breathless, bodies both beginning to act on instinct and move quicker as they grind together when pretty much the _only_ thing that could stop halt them in their tracks happens. Ian. Crying. Both of them freeze, gazes heading right for the ceiling as though that’ll somehow make the crying just a figment of their imaginations. It doesn’t, of course, and Ian goes right on crying. 

Beneath Bucky, Steve snorts a laugh. “Of course.”

Though Bucky’s whole body is ablaze with desire and need, he sighs and swallows a deep gulp of breath. Maybe this is for the best. No need to get in too deep when all he wants to do is go back to his life anyway.

“I got it,” he murmurs. Bucky doesn’t mind going up to rock Ian back to sleep.

“No, no,” Steve says, already pushing up and off the couch. “It’s fine. I still have more work to finish. You go shower and get to bed. I’ll take care of him.” 

“Are you…” Bucky, same as Steve, is wiping chocolate from his mouth with the back of his hand. Seems he’s rather uncouth here as well. No one really seems to care either. “You’re sure?”

Nodding, Steve tells him he’s got at least another hour’s worth of work to do so it just makes sense. Bucky’s still gotta shower and, as far as Steve’s concerned, will be asleep by the time he hits the pillow. Which is pretty true, most nights. Most nights, especially bowling nights, Bucky’ll drop into bed and hope for six full hours of sleep.

Tonight, however, Bucky’s got something else in mind. Maybe it’s leftover guilt for almost cheating on Steve without realizing that’s what he’d be doing. Or maybe he just really wants to do something really nice for the guy. Whatever the reason, Bucky races to get done in the shower and barely even dries himself off. 

All he does is pat himself down with a towel before tossing his robe on and letting the bath tube fill. During his time here, Bucky’s taken note of the bubbles and oils and bath salts that’re under the sink. He might not have used any of it yet, but he carefully pours them in now, letting a nice foamy layer of bubbles cozy up on top of the water. There aren’t a lot of candles, but the three that are in there, Bucky lights. 

Once he’s done, Bucky makes sure everything is perfect -- as perfect as a five minute set up can get him -- and then he sprints out of there, hurrying out of the bedroom in just a robe. Droplets of water still rolling down his legs and hair still all wet, and he’s just in time to catch Steve as he’s headed back downstairs. 

“Stevie!” 

Halfway down the stairs, Steve pauses and glances back up at him. “Yeah?”

There’s still leftover chocolate on around his lips and by his chin. It’s mostly caked on now. The irony in and of itself is humorous. 

“Come here,” Bucky tells him. “Hurry up.”

Steve’s already coming back up the stairs now. “Why? What’s wrong, Buck?”

“Nothing, nothing.” Bucky’s holding back a smile. Rolling a hand too so that Steve gets a move on. He’s actually excited about this and as soon as he’s close enough, Bucky reaches out and takes Steve wrist so he can pull him along. “You slowpoke, come _on_.” 

“Bucky!” Steve giggles as Bucky drags him through the hall and into the master bedroom so he can take him into the bathroom. “What’s going on? What’re you--” 

He cuts himself off with a gasp when he sees what’s waiting for him. The bubbles and the candles. The fluffy towels that aren’t new or anything, but they’re still there for him. Bucky eases him forward so that Steve steps into the room while he stands in the doorway. Waits for Steve’s reaction. Knots pull in his belly as he does. He’s not sure why. It’s not like this is some big grand gesture or anything. So, he did something nice for him. Not a big deal. 

“What…” Steve turns to face him. “What’s all this?” 

Bucky shrugs. Shuffles his feet. His fingers are curled in, but they push against the palms of his hands. 

“For you.” 

“Yeah, but…” A smile touches his mouth. “This is super nice, babe, but I gotta… work and all.”

“I know.” Bucky nods. “But you can take a breather, right? And I messed up the cake and all--”

“Bucky!” Steve laughs. “No, we were _playing_ and it _was_ your piece and all!”

He does know that. Their little food fight is probably what prompted Bucky to do all of this in the first place, but he still wants to do more. Around here. For Steve. Just… to be nice.

“I know. You do a lot around here though, Stevie, and I just…” Bucky swallows hard and doesn’t realize he’s been looking at his feet until he lifts his gaze. “You deserves to relax a bit.” 

“Aw, babe, I--”

“I’m not kissing you the rest of the weekend unless you take this bath, baby doll.” 

Bucky has no idea where the threat comes from, but it rolls off the tongue like a well-rehearsed, happy-go-lucky line from a song he’s sung a million times. It definitely feels right, this teasing. This playing. Like home. And it has Steve’s jaw dropping in the most heartbreakingly, adorable way. 

“ _What_?” Steve exclaims. “But… but I… you…”

“ _I_ think you should relax in here. Just for a little bit. The kids’re asleep and if you’re gonna be up later than usual, the least you can do is be nice and comfortable, right?” Bucky circles his fingers around for Steve to go back into the bathroom. “Take a break, you’ve been at it all night.” 

Face crinkling up with mild annoyance, Steve crosses his arms and grumbles something about Bucky being the biggest pain in the ass as he makes his to the side of the tube where he sits and yanks off his socks. Bucky snorts and comes into the room. Musses up Steve’s hair. 

“So, sue me,” he says. “I’m taking care of my baby doll.”

Bucky’s hand is still over Steve’s head when he says that, but the way Steve looks up at him now, the candlelight flickering softly around his face, eyes aglow and mouth pulled into the dearest smile, it’s like Bucky’s just handed Steve a winning lotto ticket. 

“What?” Bucky asks. 

He doesn’t answer. Not really. Steve’s eyes just fall shut as Bucky’s hand moves gently from the top of his head to cup his cheek and he nuzzles against his palm. When Bucky’s fingers slip under his chin, those feelings climb all over him again. That want -- that _need_ \-- to dive in and kiss him. To touch him all over. _Feel_ him everywhere. As though these needs have been stored inside of him, just waiting for the right moments to burst out of him all at once until he just can’t help himself. 

There’s a hard lump in his throat as Bucky’s heart and brain argue back and forth. A few passionate kisses between husbands can’t be so bad, can it? And right now Bucky’s body really burns with the desire for it. To just pull Steve into his arms and… 

“Bucky?”

“Huh?”

Steve chuckles. Sounds like he’s actually been saying something and Bucky’s been so distracted by thoughts of kissing him that’s he’s missed it. 

“I asked if you wanted to join me.”

Steve is waving his hand towards the steamy bubble bath while shimmying the bottom of his unflattering sweatshirt. It makes Bucky laugh. Somehow this is both completely hot and not hot at all at the same time. 

“Yes.” What? No, not a good idea. “I mean…” He shakes his head, even though Steve’s eyes lit up at the agreement. “No, I… well… maybe for a little…” No. No, it’s not a good idea. It’s better this way. “No, I… should… it’s my day with the kids tomorrow…” Bucky offers an amazingly horrible fake yawn and stretch. “I should hit the hay. But you, uh, you enjoy yourself in here.”

Chuckling at Bucky’s fumbling, Steve doesn’t let him go right away. He grabs him by the wrist and tugs him down to kiss him first. Thanks him for all this and hugs him around the waist before finally allowing him to leave the bathroom. He’s just taking his shirt off when Bucky closes the door behind him. First waiting to make sure that he hears Steve slipping into the tub, Bucky darts away out of the bedroom and back downstairs. Nevermind the fact that his brain has been short circuiting and letting ridiculous whispers of his heart get words out of his mouth. He’s still got one more little trick up his sleeve tonight. 

Just like he thought, those tax papers Steve’s been working on are something he knows. He hates them, sure, but with the right motivation -- and getting this done as a surprise for Steve suddenly feels like a great motivation -- Bucky can breeze through this with no problem. 

The program is different than what he’s used to -- Bucky wonders if maybe Steve’s come up with this on his own -- but he figures it out within a few minutes. This part of it anyway. The rest of it, Bucky’s pretty damn impressed. Given professionalism and client/attorney privilege, Steve has this program run in such a way that it’d take Tony Stark himself to break into it to see whatever cases these files represent -- pro bono or not. Well, Steve always was spectacularly intelligent even if people took his single-mindedness and stubbornness as something that overshadowed that. Still, Bucky’s able to at least crack this part of it and get these tax forms done. 

In fact, it feels like Bucky’s practically just sat down when he’s almost on the last file and there’s a soft sound coming from the hall. Bucky looks up from Steve’s laptop. Sees him standing there with damp hair. A robe around his body and a towel around his neck and fuzzy slippers on his feet. 

“Hey,” Bucky says softly when Steve goes on just standing there. “Was the bath nice?”

“I… yeah. Yeah, it was.” He comes closer to the kitchen table. “What’re you doing?” 

Bucky looks from the file he was about to work on, to the screen of the laptop, and back to Steve again. He shrugs a shoulder. 

“I’m not too bad at this stuff.” Bucky puts his hand over the manilla folders of all the files he’s gotten done for Steve. “Figured I could help you out.”

He comes all the way over now. Leans over Bucky and looks through the pile of folders before scrolling through the computer files. 

“But you’ve… Bucky!” His jaw drops when he finally catches up to what he’s looking at. “You’ve finished almost _all_ of this for me!” 

The utter surprise in Steve’s voice is simply adorable. He sits down in the chair next to Bucky without taking his eyes off the computer and when he finally looks over at him, Steve just lets out a stunned laugh. 

“I can’t believe you _did_ this!” 

“It was no big deal.”

It really wasn’t. At least, that’s what Bucky’s trying to tell himself. Even as Steve goes on to say how amazing Bucky is for doing this. That Bucky’s a lifesaver and spared him at _least_ another hour of work. It really isn’t a big deal that the excited look on Steve’s face is doing those things to Bucky’s belly again. Making it flip pleasantly and pushing Bucky to want to do more things like this. To have Steve pleased and excited with _him_. 

Bucky can ignore the warmth that flutters through him now. He can resist the urge to pull Steve into his arms and hold him close. There’s no need to give into the temptation that’s burning through him now to smother Steve in kisses and feel their bodies rubbing together and to have his cock pushing against Steve’s…

“I should go to bed.” 

His voice cracks as he shoots out of the chair he’s sitting in, catching it just before it falls over. Steve reaches for it, too, but Bucky’s the one who grabs it and sets it right. He’s backing out of the kitchen. His husband staring at him, oddly. 

“What’s the matter?” Steve questions. 

No doubt he hears the sudden panic rising in his voice. Sees it bubbling on his face. All Bucky needs is to play the game so he can get back to his own life. That’s _all_ he needs. None of these pesky other emotions getting in the way of that. 

“Nothing.” He shakes his head way more times than necessary and knocks into the corner of the table as he backs out of the room. “Just tired. Gotta get some sleep.”

“Um… it’s only gonna take me a few more minutes to finish here,” Steve says. “If you wanna stick around we can go to bed togeth--”

“No, I should… I gotta get the school to kids tomorrow.” Bucky’s whole face turns red and he gets out an awkward laugh. “I mean. Y’know. Kids to school. My day with the kids and all.” He’s already in the doorway. “But I’ll see you in the morning, okay? I’ll make eggs.” He’s getting much better at all different kinds of eggs. Bucky can make scrambled eggs, sunnyside up, and over-easy now. “Bacon. If no one steals it on you.”

“O-okay.” Steve’s eyebrows knit tighter while Bucky still backs out of the room. “Night, Buck.” 

“Goodnight. Steve. Night. Goodnight.” 

Hurrying off then, Bucky leaves a perplexed and possibly even slightly hurt Steve in the kitchen. He needs to get out of there though. Clear his mind. Remember his priorities. Which are easy. All he’s got to do is play house here long enough to get back to his life. Where he’s got it all figured out. Where he has all he needs. Nothing here is going to stop him. Nothing here is going to get in his way. _Nothing_. 

Bucky didn’t let Steve’s weepy face keep him from getting on that plane eleven years ago, he’s certainly not going to let his adorable face keep him from getting on with his life now. 

Even if that is the thought that keeps him lying awake in bed for hours that night. Way past the time he’d normally be drooling into his pillow, as Steve so eloquently pointed out weeks ago. As promised, Steve had crept into the bedroom about fifteen minutes after Bucky’d hidden himself deep under the covers and pretended, once again, to be asleep. 

Now, Bucky would give anything to be asleep. To turn these thoughts off and just be done with them for the night. Forever, even. Instead, his heart keeps fluttering whenever he thinks about running after Steve with the cake. His stomach twists happily whenever he pictures Steve’s face when he saw the bathroom and that Bucky had drawn at bath for him. Even the air around him feels toasty and right whenever he hears the happiness and surprise in Steve’s voice playing in his head when he found him in the kitchen finishing up his work. 

He glances over at the man sleeping soundly next to him. Steve’s got one armed tossed over his head, the other, well, his hand is almost disappearing beneath the sweats his sleeping in. His mouth his hanging opening and in between every few breaths he takes he snores. There’s something endearing about the whole thing that Bucky wishes he found irritating but he doesn’t. A part of his wants to just curl up next to him. Wrap himself in Steve’s arms and let himself be engulfed in all the warmth that comes from him. Instead, he huffs as he flings the covers away.

“Shit,” he mutters. Scrubs a hand over his face and glances back at Steve as he gets out of bed. That irritation he hopes for just isn’t showing up. He feels nothing but… warmth when he looks at him. Warmth and… “No.”

Nope, Bucky’s not even going to touch upon that. He just throws a shirt on and goes back downstairs, wanting to let those thoughts and troublesome emotions just stay up there with Steve. They don’t, of course, and even down in the living room, where Bucky pours himself a late night drink hoping to quiet his noisy brain, he can’t shake these nagging feelings. 

They tap on his shoulder, sneaking up on him like an unwanted stranger. Pests that come into his home in the middle of the night and refuse to leave him alone no matter how hard Bucky ignores them. And Bucky’s trying as hard as he can. Sipping cheap Scotch out of a glass tumbler and sighing and just focusing on why he’s trying to get back to _his_ life. 

As he sits there, something catches Bucky’s eye that he hadn’t noticed before. Well, he probably has. He’s just never paid attention to the home movies stacked with the rest of the DVDs until now. Compelled to look -- because why not, Bucky’s been a glutton for punishment lately -- he starts perusing through the handwritten titles scribbled on the front of them. _Lake George - Summer 07. Easter - 09. Wedding Announcement_ \-- _05._ Bucky’s very tempted to throw that one on, but instead, chooses the one labeled as _Bucky Singing_. 

Drink in hand, he snatches up the remote after putting the DVD in the player and turns on the television. Looks like it’s playing from the last spot it was played from. The middle of an outdoor party. Their backyard. People are standing everywhere. Sam and Maria are laughing with Natasha and Sharon while Laura’s big belly is being happily fussed over by Angie -- wearing a chef’s hat while she BBQ’s -- and Peggy. Other neighbors are their as well. Munching on food and talking and laughing. The yard is filled and whenever someone notices they’re on camera they smile and wave or make a goofy face. Natasha even boldly flips the camera off to which Sharon playfully scolds her for. 

Kids are running around -- in their swimsuits since the pool is open. Cheesy decorations are up. Red, white, and blue, but also happy birthday streamers. Then the person holding the camera starts talking when Bucky comes into the shot. 

“Hey, Bucky!” Clint. Clint is the one holding the camera and as soon as he says his name, Bucky is turning towards him. Swim trunks on and a wet t-shirt. “Is there anything you’d like to say today? To your husband? Since he stole America’s birthday?”

On the screen, Bucky’s mouth drops and he looks somewhere further into the yard as those around him start to chuckle.

“Is it… are you telling me it’s your _birthday_?” he exclaims as the camera shifts quickly from him to where he’s looking. At Steve. Who’s at the picnic table and shirtless and blushing to the tips of his ears. “Did you _steal_ America’s _birthday,_ Steven?”

Ian is sleeping in the stroller next to him. Sarah on the other side of the table giggling with red and blue frosting smeared all over her face. Steve keeps hiding his face every time he tries to look up since the camera is on him and now everyone is looking at him and he’s laughing so hard there’re tears twinkling in his eyes. 

On the couch, Bucky laughs himself. He can’t help it. Steve always did hate being the center of attention and Bucky was always the type who would do something like this to him. Just to make him smile. 

“I didn’t do it on purpose!” Steve on the video finally answers. “It wasn’t my fault!” 

Bucky’s close enough that to Steve in the frame now that they’re in it together, hands on his hips as though he’s actually disappointed that Steve’s birthday just happens to fall on the Fourth of July. He clicks his tongue in mock-annoyance. 

“I can’t believe this. You couldn’t get your own, birthday, huh?” He sighs and shakes his head. “Well, what the heck am I supposed to do now? It’s my husband’s birthday and there’s gonna be fireworks for _America_ , how do I compete with that?” 

Grunting, Bucky crosses his arms, clearly fighting back a smile as Steve goes right on laughing with everyone gathered around and watching. They all seem to be waiting for something to happen. Steve, too. Something wildly entertaining. 

“Gah, well… you’re my _husband_ ,” Bucky announces. Tosses his arms up like it’s the most incredible thing in the world. “I gotta do _something_ for you. I can’t light fireworks today since no one’ll know they’re for _you_.” He narrows his eyes and Steve covers his face again. “But I _do_ have something.” Bucky presses his hands together like he’s suddenly nervous. “And… hell, I hope you like it.” He points across the yard. “Hit it, Sam!” 

The camera turns again and Sam is in view, standing in front of an old piano keyboard, and while Steve in the video is asking what in the world they’re doing, Bucky groans through a laugh as he watches it unfold. 

“You got this, Sam!” Clint shouts as Sam starts playing. “You wore that shirt last year, by the way!”

Already, Sam is trying not to laugh as his fingers play a familiar melody. Bucky recognizes it as it plays through the TV and can only assume that he’s going to hear himself sing the words to Bad English’s _When I See You Smile_ in a few seconds.

“Sometimes I wonder how I’d ever make it through.” Sure enough, that’s exactly what happens, and Bucky’s in view again, now tugging at Steve’s wrists so that he’s standing with him. “Through this world without having you!” Oh, hell, he’s even _worse_ than Steve. “I just wouldn’t have a clue!” Especially with the way he’s moving. So showboat and ridiculous, though, Bucky’s sure that’s the point of it. “Cause sometime’s it seems, this world’s closing in on me!” And Steve is completely eating it up. “And there’s no way of breaking free!” Laughing so hard he can barely breathe. “And then I see you reach for me!” Bucky’s throwing his head from side to side like some 1980s big haired rockstar. “Sometimes I wanna gives up, wanna give in, I wanna quit the fight!” He tosses his arms out to the sides like he just can’t contain his excitement of such a huge performance. “And then I see you, baby.” He points right to Steve. “And everything’s alright, yeah, _everything’s_ alright!” 

That’s when Bucky takes a step back and puts a bit of a halt on hamming the whole thing up. Right when the chorus starts and he looks at Steve and holds a hand out and goes on singing just as horribly as this whole thing started. 

“When I _see you smile_ , I can face the world!” Of course, Steve is smiling in the video. Hiding it, but still peeking over fingers so he can watch Bucky’s silly performance. “You know I can do _anything_.” But Bucky moves closer to him again and then refuses to let him keep covering his face like that. “When I _see you smile_ , I see a ray of light.” 

He even coaxes Steve’s chin back so that he’s looking at him. They’re dancing now. Close and slowly, grinning wildly at each other while Bucky takes to singing softer now. 

“I see it shining right through the rain,” he sings. “When I see you smile.” And Steve is smiling. At Bucky like he’s the only thing in the whole world that matters. “Baby, when I see you smile at me.” There’s more to the song, but Bucky just smiles now and says, “Happy birthday, baby doll. I love you.”

Bucky has to press stop when Steve responds with a kiss and everyone watching breaks out in _Ooos and Awws_ and claps. The smile he had while watching has faded. 

There are a lot of things he can remember. He remembers calling Steve baby doll and wrapping an arm around him from behind to greet him. Bucky remembers that his favorite color is green and that he always wanted to live in Paris for a year. 

No wonder nothing ever happened between that Bucky and Whitney. Sam was right, back in the bowling alley. Bucky looked at Steve in that video like there were two people in the world that mattered. Steve. And everyone else. No one was ever gonna turn his eye.

But what Bucky can’t remember is the last time _he_ ever looked at someone the way that version of him looked at Steve in that video. When the last time it was that he opened himself up and just _loved_ someone. He can’t even remember the last time he allowed _himself_ to be loved like that. 

Which isn’t entirely true. 

Bucky does remember that. In fact, he remembers all of it. 

It was in an airport eleven years ago. Right before he boarded a flight for Russia. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone had a great week and are headed into a fabulous weekend. Thank you for the kudos and comments :)
> 
> feel free to find me on tumblr. A place for marvel and stucky and fun [thebestpersonherelovesbucky](http://www.thebestpersonherelovesbucky.tumblr.com/)


	7. Twelve Years and Counting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Trigger/squick warning** spoilers for this chapter: 
> 
>  
> 
> In this chapter, Bucky and Steve do make love. Given the circumstances, some people might be uncomfortable by it which is why I have the mildly dubious consent tag. It isn't explicit, but for anyone who prefers to skip that completely, when they start kissing heatedly at the hotel, just stop reading there for the rest of the chapter. There's not much left after that anyway.

It’s a Friday. Bucky knows that much when Cap is licking his face to wake him up just seconds before the alarm is going off. Friday means payroll so at least he can be off the sale’s floor a little longer than usual. Also, payday. Always good. Sarah has an arts and crafts class at four-thirty, so Bucky’ll pick her up from that after work and he’s pretty sure that Ian starts a new swim lesson with Steve today. 

“Come on, babe,” Steve mumbles when Bucky doesn’t move to turn the alarm off after almost a full minute. He rolls over him and does it himself. “Time to get up.” 

“Mmm,” Bucky groans into his pillow and pretends that Steve isn’t chuckling at him. “Don’t wanna.” 

“I know.” He sounds in total agreement actually. “But we gotta. Mouths to feed. Lives to be lived. All that fun stuff. Come on.” Steve gives his butt a few slaps. “Your day.” 

Smacking his lips together, Bucky nods and is already pushing up on his arms to lift himself out of bed. It is his day so he better get a move on if he doesn’t wanna be running around trying to get out of here on time. Bucky rubs some sleep from his eyes and even tickles the sole of Steve’s foot as he stretches, earning a yelp and nudge to the hip with stinky toes. He grins as a yawn pulls his mouth open wide. Bucky scratches at the back of his head as he climbs down the stairs, smiling to himself as he listens to Ian babbling softly in his crib. 

In the kitchen, Bucky blinks a few times, letting the sleep clear as he gets Ian’s bottle ready. As that heats up, he can’t ignore how Cap dances around her bowl, waiting to be fed. Bucky chuckles and pets her head before pouring the kibble into her dish. He then pours Sarah’s bowl of Lucky Charms. Bucky’s found it better to have it ready by the time she gets down here. Once he’s done there, he checks the coffee maker. Coffee is _always_ a priority around here. For both him _and_ Steve. 

Frozen waffles don’t sound so bad for him and Steve this morning. Quick and easy. He can get those started after he showers. First though, he takes Ian’s bottle, now all warm for him, and goes back upstairs with it. Smiles at him still laying there in his crib.

“Morning, Ian,” he murmurs. Places a hand gently to the side of his face. “How’d you sleep, buddy? Good?”

He hands Ian the bottle -- who takes it with a big smile and eager little hands -- with the promise he’ll be back to get him in just a little bit. With Ian still content in his crib, there’s no reason to take him out just yet. It’ll give Bucky time to wake up a little more anyway. Nice hot shower. Maybe even a cup of coffee before the kids are up, _oh_ , that’ll be so nice. 

So, Bucky ambles his way back to the bedroom where he plans on hopping in the shower while Steve is out running with Sam and Maria. In fact, Bucky’s surprised to find Steve still in his pajamas when he gets back. Normally, he’d be at least washed up and getting dressed. Sam and Maria will be here any minute. Instead, Steve is sitting on the bed with his back facing Bucky. 

“Steve?” Bucky says. “You o--” Steve turns around with a huge smile on his face and a big, wrapped gift in his hand and Bucky’s heart drops. His eyes go wide and any leftover drowsiness is chased away by the nerves that shoot through his body. “Oh, no,” he whimpers to himself. 

“Happy anniversary, babe,” Steve says excitedly. That smile grows impossibly wider as he hops up onto the bed. Looks like he might have dug the gift out from under it. “Okay, look, before you do whatever crazy stunt you’ve got planned--” Oh no. Oh, no, this is bad. This is really bad. “--I want you to open my gift first.”

Frozen in place, Bucky just stares at the gift in question, mouth agape and unable to form any coherent thought at all. Until finally he gets his jaw to close and his gaze to lift and he manages to say the first thing that comes to mind. 

Which is nothing more than a weakly executed, “Um… maybe… maybe I should… wait.”

“No!” Steve exclaims and is jumping on the bed like a little kid who just can’t sit still. “Come on, come on, _come on_! Open it, open it!” 

He’s pushing the box closer and closer to Bucky and if Bucky doesn’t open it now, Steve surely will for him. In fact, Steve continues to chant that he’s got to open it now and even starts shaking the box at him. Giving in, Bucky nods and comes over. Slowly begins tearing into the paper which must not be quick enough for Steve since Steve rips into it on the other end to get the wrappings off faster. A chill washes over Bucky when as does. Steve is so excited, but Bucky is so horribly unprepared for any of this. 

Under all the wrapping is just a plain white box and what Bucky sees when he lifts the cover leaves him breathless. It’s a suit. A knock-off, of course. The coloring is off and the stitching is wrong, but Steve’s found him a suit and has gotten it for him and Bucky lifts the jacket out of the box and holds it up to look at it. Knows immediately it’ll fit him perfectly. 

“I found it at an outlet store,” Steve tells him quietly. “I know… I know it’s a knock-off, but I still think you’ll look really great in it, Buck.” 

Bucky hasn’t lowered the jacket. He can’t. He doesn’t want Steve to see the tears in his eyes. Or how his lower lip has begun to tremble. 

“Listen, babe, I know I don’t make a lot of money and sometimes things get a little tight around here, but I want you to know how much I appreciate how hard you work.” Bucky’s stomach folds. Twice. “And you just…” He clears his throat and gets out a little laugh. “You just really deserved something nice. I wish I could’ve gotten you that one in the mall.” Bucky feels himself shrinking, he swears he does. “But, I really do think you’ll look great in this. Do you… do you like it, Bucky?”

The nerves clinging to Steve’s voice have Bucky lowering the jacket, tears and all. It’s back in the box before he even realizes what he’s doing. 

“Yes,” he answers. “Yes, yes.” Bucky leans in and kisses him. Finds his lips. His cheeks, his nose, his brow. “So much, baby doll. Stevie, it’s perfect.”

Steve is smiling again, assured now that his gift was a good one as he clears the wrapping paper from the bed and balls it up so he can toss it into the garbage later. He then straightens up, looks positively thrilled and nervous at the same time, and holds his hands out with a laugh. 

“Okay,” he says. “Do whatever you’re gonna do.” 

The chill that washed over Bucky earlier turns to ice now. Freezing his insides and making a shiver crawl up his spine. 

“You’re probably expecting a, uh… a gift from… from me…” he says. Steve mentioned something about finding babysitting earlier in the week. He said it last week, too. Fuck, why didn’t Bucky pay attention to that? Now, he sitting here, so excited he’s ready to jump out of his skin, and Bucky has _nothing_ for him. “See, the thing is… I, um…” Okay. He can do this without crushing poor Steve’s heart. He can. “I hadn’t planned on giving you your anniversary gift until later. Until tonight.”

“ _What_ are you talking about?” Steve bursts out laughing. “You can _never_ wait all day! You can _barely_ wait till _morning_!”

Of course. Of course, that’s him. Actually, that kind of _does_ sound like him. Or at least the way he used to be. Still is sort of. He couldn’t wait to give Darcy her cruise tickets and any gift he ever sends to his sister and nephews it’s always overnighted. 

His enthusiasm to give gifts, however, isn’t exactly helpful right now since it leaves him in a pretty shitty situation. One with a husband who’s gone out of his way to give him not only a thoughtful gift, but a ridiculously loving one, and will be left facing his thoughtless husband who has _nothing_ for him in return.

“I know.” Bucky laughs nervously. “That’s me, isn’t it? It’s true. But, um. It’s funny.” Why the _fuck_ can’t he thinkof _anything_ to say? He’s come up with ways to stall deals between corporations worth millions of dollars, yet facing Steve Rogers-Barnes being sad and disappointed, he can’t think of a _single_ thing to say. “Uh… the thing is…”

Steve’s face is beginning to fall. The situation is suddenly not as funny as it started off as. The wheels in his mind are turning and Bucky, desperate as he is to stop them, can see them putting things into place. That big, goofy smile is gone and Steve’s eyes look about the room once before landing back on Bucky. 

“You forgot…” he whispers. 

A noise gets stuck in the back of Bucky’s throat. This is a bad one. He knows this is a really huge fuck up on his part, even if it’s not _totally_ his fault this time. Steve can’t know that though. Really, what matters right now, Bucky supposes, is how much he cares about the look on Steve’s face. Something falling between shocked and hurt. Oh, _god_ , that look. Whether it’s totally his fault or not it doesn’t matter. Bucky’s ready to cry to make this better. 

“You actually forgot our anniversary?”

“I can fix this,” Bucky promises. He will. He’ll do whatever it takes. “I swear. I can…” He looks at the door. “I can run out and… and get you something really nice. I’ll make this right.” 

When Steve doesn’t do anything other than look completely stunned by this, Bucky glances over at the calendar hanging over Steve’s art desk. Sure enough, on today’s date is a big heart sticker and the words _Twelve Years_ written across it, and dear, _god_ how could Bucky not see this coming? Their wedding anniversary is literally the same date as when they started dating in the first place. How convenient. It’s been right there this whole time for Bucky to see in black and white. Or red and pink. Whatever. All he had to do was pay attention. 

“ _Shit_ ,” Bucky mutters under his breath while still looking away. “Stevie, baby doll, please, I’m sorry.” He reaches out and Steve doesn’t back away nor does he really react to the touch to his chin. “I’ll make this up to you, honey. I will.” 

Steve opens his mouth like he wants to answer, but the disbelief all over him leaves him unable to do so. Some of the odd behavior around the house and Bucky being crabby, even having an outburst at the mall over a freaking suit is one thing, but the idea of Bucky forgetting their anniversary just seems so surreal that Steve doesn’t know what to do. He just sits there for a moment or two longer before sucking in a deep breath and going into the bathroom. 

 

Sarah is watching him with sullen eyes, her chin between her hands and her elbows on the table, as he mixes her chocolate milk. Bucky’s had no choice but to start getting the kids ready for the day, but it’s clear by one, the lack of singing and two, the fact that Daddy’s not gone out with Sam and Maria that something is wrong. He had to tell his partner-in-crime something. Bucky tried to leave out the details, simply telling her that it’s their anniversary and he didn’t realize but that did no good. She put two and two together anyway. 

Doesn’t help that Bucky feels a bit -- or a lot -- like crawling into a hole for a while, too. He knows he can fix this and he knows he will. He knows that Steve will forgive him, but he _hates_ that Steve is upset _now_. The guilt is horrible. The real, undeniable _guilt_ that eats away at him. 

Steve had been so happy, so excited about today, and now he’s completely miserable, and it all could’ve been avoided had Bucky just paid a little closer attention. 

“This is all my fault.”

The little, self-deprecating voice yanks Bucky out of his own cloud of guilt and back into the kitchen where he’s stirring chocolate milk and a little six-year-old is watching with a gloomy expression all over her face. She might not be biologically either of theirs, but she’s certainly picked up on some of their mannerisms. 

“What?” Bucky shakes his head. “What’s your fault?”

“I should’ve warned you about the nan-iversary. It’s all my fault.” 

“No, hey…” Bucky stops what he’s doing and lifts her up, placing her gently on the counter. “No. Sweetheart, this is not your fault. It’s just something that happened. It’s on the calendar and your daddy did mention something about it to me. So, no. Not your fault, okay?”

Sarah smiles, but still looks a little unconvinced, so Bucky gives her a gentle bump under her chin to make her laugh. 

“There’s that real smile,” he says. “See. I knew it was in there.” 

She sighs a little. “Papa _always_ does something _really_ special for the nan-iversary.” 

“Oh, yeah?” He hands her the cup of chocolate milk. Sarah takes a sip and ends up with a brown milk-mustache. “Like what?”

“One year? He had a _star_ named after him.”

Bucky’s eyebrows shoot up as he helps Sarah down from the counter and tends to Ian who’s trying to get a Cheerio off his elbow. 

“He had a _star_ named after him? Huh. That’s nice. I mean… yeah. But isn’t that…” He shrugs. “I dunno, kinda corny?”

“Daddy liked it.” 

“Hm.” Bucky thinks on it for a minute. “What if I went back to the mall? Got him, like, a watch or something?”

“That’s good, but, you _did_ forget the nan-iversary.” 

“That’s true, good point,” Bucky agrees. “And that is a major screw up.” 

The frozen waffles were a bust today, so Bucky’s just had some coffee and a Pop-tart. He’s clearing the table as he tries to come up with something that will not only do for a gift, but also make up for hurting Steve. 

“Okay, so… I’m Steve…” he says to himself as he rinses off a few plates. “I can’t afford the finer things. My husband’s career is a crushing disappointment.” Bucky finishes loading the dishwasher. “I’m _trapped_ in suburbia.” And then something pops into his head. Just like that, as he slowly straightens back up and looks at Sarah again. “Hey… did your papa ever take him out to the city?”

A huge smiles lights up her face as she gives him two very happy thumbs up.

“ _Now_ you’re gettin’ the hang of it!”

It’s gonna take planning -- _exact_ planning -- and budgeting, but Bucky can pull it off, he knows he can. He can turn this day into a good one. Into a night Steve’ll never forget. 

First things first, Bucky checks their finances. What he’d do with unlimited resources and what he can do on theirs are slightly different. After number crunching and nail biting, he’s sure of what he can make the night look like for them. The next few weeks’ll be tight, but if everything goes as planned, it’ll so be worth it. Bucky even looks into getting them into the city by renting a limo.

“Yeesh,” he grumbles after getting off the phone with the third company that morning. Even a towncar, while _doable_ , is a bit too much. He grunts and pours over the budget he’s written out. “The train’ll have to do.” 

No reason to bankrupt them for a night out. Bucky’s pretty sure Steve’ll appreciate the thought more than having to live with the kids out of a cardboard box just for a limo ride. 

Dinner is a little tricky. No way Bucky’s gonna go through all of this just to take Steve to a run-of-the-mill restaurant. It’s gotta be French, that’s a definite. Bucky’s never taken Steve to Paris, they’ve never climbed the Eiffel Tower together let alone lived there for a year like Steve always wanted, but he’ll get him French cuisine for their twelfth wedding anniversary. He’s just gotta get into the right restaurant. High-class, but still affordable. 

Which isn’t easy. He knows the place, it’s just trying to get a table reserved, even this early, is a _lot_ harder without his connections. Fingers drumming over his desk, Bucky runs over ideas. He _knows_ the managers of the restaurant. One call to any of them in his old life and he’d be in, no problem. Then again, he really wouldn’t be in this bind. He wouldn’t have Steve, his husband, to take out tonight. A thought Bucky doesn’t really want to think about cause, for some reasons, it makes him a little sick to his stomach.

Instead, he focuses on getting these reservations made so the whole plan doesn’t fall apart before it even comes together. It occurs to Bucky while he’s sitting there -- thinking, thinking, thinking -- that just because they don’t know _him_ hardly means he no longer knows _them_. 

“Hm,” he muses as he picks up the phone and dials a now familiar number. Bucky gets a greeting after just two rings. “Natasha! Best friend in the whole world! How’re you doin’ this morning?”

There’s a soft chuckle on the other end of the phone. “What’d you do, Bucky?”

“ _What_? Why’d you just--okay,” he relents right away. “I kinda, sorta… _forgot_ today was my anniversary.” 

“ _Oh_!” she hollers. Loud enough that Bucky cringes and needs to pull the phone away from his ear a half-an-inch. “You are in _so_ much _trouble_!”

Another round of guilt runs through him and Bucky frowns at the list he’s got prepared in front of him. A second ago he was sure it was brilliant. Now it looks back at him with perfect torment. A taunting glare that he’ll never pull this off and get Steve to forgive him. He places a hand over the paper to ignore it all. 

“I know, I know,” he grumbles. “Which is why I need your help.”

He goes on to explain his idea. That one of the managers of the restaurant Bucky’s looking to take Steve to tonight _might_ or might not have exploited some loopholes on his taxes the past few years while making deals with other food companies in order to make better profits. Technically, nothing’s illegal, but Bucky’s sure he doesn’t want the IRS investigating anything. Between Nat and Sharon’s connections over there at Capitol Hill, there’s gotta be _someway_ this reservation can be possible. 

“How… how do you even _know_ that?” Nat asks. 

“Um.” Shit, he didn’t consider having to explain that. “Does it matter? This is for my Steve! I need to fix this! Please, Nat! Please, please, _please_!”

“So, you’re telling me, that you want me to use what connections I have over at the IRS in order to get you reservations at a restaurant because you forgot your anniversary?”

Well, when she puts it that way it sounds dirty and underhanded. Sneaky. But it’s the only thing he can think of and Bucky _really_ wants to make this up to Steve. 

“...Yes?”

“Okay,” she answers. Bright and chipper. “Gimme twenty minutes.”

She’s hanging up before he can even respond. Bucky laughs at her certainty and, sure enough, twenty-two minutes later, Nat is calling him back and telling him not to be late for his six-thirty reservation. 

Babysitting turns out to be the easiest step. Bucky knows he could ask Joe, who’s already here with him and taking over payroll today, but now that he’s made plans, he needs a little more than grandpa Joe. Laura Barton, however, is happy to take the kids for a night. She even says those words almost exactly. 

“Oh, sure, Bucky.” He can hear Nathanial in the background. “We’d be happy to take the kids for the night.”

“You’re sure it’s okay?” Bucky double checks. “I wouldn’t want to leave you stranded with six kids.”

“Six?” she questions. Sounds like she’s paused in whatever she’s doing to count the kids in her head. “There’s only… oh.” Now she laughs. “Don’t worry. Clint might be a big kid, but he _is_ actually pretty helpful when I need him to be.”

Bucky chuckles and thanks her again. He gets a text from Clint a little while later assuring him that he’ll load the kids up on a ton of sugar before returning them tomorrow. 

Wanting this to be as much of a surprise for Steve as possible, Bucky doesn’t want him to have to do _any_ of the preparations. He _is_ going to need to wear a suit tonight. One with a jacket. Bucky’s got the new one to wear, and Steve should have something really nice, too. Bucky puts in a call to Peggy for this one. 

“You did _what_?”

“I know,” Bucky groans. “Can you help me out?”

“Oh, boy.” She chuckles. “What’d’you need me to do?”

It’s easy, really. All she has to do is take Steve to the mall. There’s a Men’s Wearhouse there and they’re already expecting him. Bucky’s spoken with a rep and picked out what’ll work best for tonight while looking at their website. He’s even given them his information and their budget and everything. It’ll be rented, so they save money that way, too. Steve’s gonna look amazing. 

While Peggy takes Steve for his suit -- and Bucky makes her swear she won’t give anything else away. _Nothing, dear, I promise_ \-- Bucky’ll swing by the house and get things ready. Even pack two bags for the kids and drop that off with Laura so it’s done. He throws a few things in a bag for him and Steve, too. Comfy clothes for the grand finale he has planned for later. Toothbrushes. Deodorant. Pajamas. His new suit, as well. Can’t go without that. 

This is gonna be great. So long as Steve agrees to meet him at the train station at all. So much of this rides on Steve cooperating. Peggy’s, at least, gotten him to go to the mall. For lunch, is what she told Bucky she’d be telling him. That she wanted to treat him and Ian. Now, Bucky just needs to make sure he’ll go to the train station.

“You… you’ll get him to come, right, Sam?” Bucky asks. He’s arranged to leave work early for the 4:30 train and Peggy will stay with Ian until Laura can come get him and Clint will be picking up Sarah from arts and crafts. That’s if Steve will let Sam drop him off at the train station. “You don’t think I fucked up so bad that he won’t come, do you?”

“C’mon, man,” Sam responds. “This is an epic fuck up, I won’t lie, but this is _Steve_ we’re talkin’ about. He’s been crazy about you since college. He’ll be there.”

Of that, Sam sounds certain so Bucky tries to keep in mind that even though Steve can be a stubborn punk, he’s also not unreasonable. That doesn’t mean Bucky’s not shaking like a leaf when he changes into his new suit in his office before leaving. Big Joe’s well wishes mean the world to him as he heads out. 

He pulls into the parking lot a good fifteen minutes before he’s meant to meet with Steve. Heart pounding, Bucky looks around for Sam’s car. It’s not around anywhere, not yet, but that’s not unusual. There’s still time. 

This train station is rather nice. Ice and snow have been scraped away to the sides so that the front courtyard is clear to walk across without any problems. The roof-covered ticket area is empty save for one other person. Makes it easy for Bucky to get their tickets. Then, he can only wait. And hope. 

A few other people come to get their tickets, going up to the platform to wait for the train while Bucky still just waits. Every time he hears a car, every time he hears footsteps, every time he hears _anything_ , Bucky is perking up to see if it’s Steve coming. Whenever it’s not, Bucky’s crushed under a little more weight of disappointment. 

There’s still ten minutes before the train comes and Bucky’s just pacing back and forth ringing his hands out. He keeps telling himself that Steve isn’t even late yet, but that doesn’t stop him from worrying. From imagining himself having to make the trip back home and face Steve there because he wouldn’t come here to meet him and all of today will have been a waste. 

Until he hears a set of footsteps that he actually recognizes. It’s an incredible feeling, really, but Bucky actually recognizes the footsteps coming towards him now. Knows that Steve is coming. There’s a smile on his own face before Steve even appears and when he does, eyes on his toes and fiddling with the zipper of his jacket, Bucky almost laughs. 

“You… you came.”

His voice echoes off the stone, the words gently carrying across the concrete and making Steve stop in his tracks. A timid smile touches his lips. 

“Did you think I wouldn’t?” He plays a little more with his zipper and looks up at Bucky through his lashes. “Word around the campfire is… I got some… hot date tonight.” 

Bucky grins. Looks like _he’s_ the one with the hot date. Even with his winter jacket on, Bucky can tell he looks great. 

“I guess that depends,” he says. “You willing to give me a little leeway?” Bucky pinches his fingers together. “That much, maybe?”

Another smile quirks up on Steve’s mouth. A little playful this time. He comes over the rest of the way and stands in front of Bucky. Even gives a gentle tug on the bottom of Bucky’s jacket. 

“Well, I’ve come this far and you’ve got me all spiffy.” Steve shrugs. “Guess I should see what you’ve got up your sleeve.” 

That alone is enough to make Bucky feel as though he’s walking on air. Forget trying to wipe the smile off his face. Especially when he holds his arm out and Steve is willing to loop them together. He even stays like that when they’re on the platform waiting the few minutes for the train. There’s a stiffness, yes. Some tension, and Bucky’s very willing to accept and work with that. 

The train ride into Penn Station is long and mostly quiet. Steve is still hurt even if he is intrigued about whatever Bucky has in store for him tonight. That’s not going to change in just a few hours and a vague idea of what’s happening. All Steve knows so far is that they’re headed to Manhattan and he’s dressed nice. 

For the hour and a half it takes to get there though, they don’t talk very much. A little bit here and there. Bucky trying to press a little. Asking about Steve’s day and how lunch was with Peggy and how he liked going to get the suit. Steve answers and will ask follow up questions, but appears more content to just sit quietly and watch the scenery go by. 

“This way,” Bucky says when they get off at Penn. “Just gotta take the A uptown and walk about a block and we’ll be there.” 

“Are you gonna tell me where _there_ is yet?” Steve asks. Reaches out and actually takes hold of Bucky’s hand while they go through the crowded station for the subway.

“Nope,” Bucky teases.

He tries not to get too ahead of himself, keeping his smile tucked under his teeth. After all, Steve might just be holding his hand to keep from getting separated. He does give Bucky’s hand a squeeze though and doesn’t let go, even as they board the subway. 

It’s a crowded time of day. People trying to get home from work and shift changes and tourists of course. Happy hour underway since it’s Friday especially and others already coming in to start their weekend fun. 

The crowds slow them just a little, but they still have time when they go back to street level at the Columbus Circle Station. The second they’re up there, Bucky’s wrapping his jacket tighter around himself. Cold fingers of February chills are having fun reaching out and tickling the city tonight. Even Steve, who’s the sorta person who will run out to the car without his jacket on like it’s no big deal when it’s snowing, shivers and rubs his gloved hands together. 

“Reservation for James Barnes-Rogers,” he tells the hostess once they get there. 

The dinner rush isn’t really there yet. Almost all the tables are full, yes, but there’s not a whole lot of people waiting which is nice about such an early reservation. As the hostess goes off to see if their table is ready, Bucky turns back to Steve to take his coat over to the coat check. He smiles to see that his husband is gazing around. Eyes wide and full of shimmering glitter as he takes in the place Bucky’s brought him to. 

“Steve?” Bucky says. “You wanna give me your coat?”

Still looking around -- at the huge windows and Central Park views, the centerpieces on the table, the chandeliers dripping from the ceiling -- Steve absently unzips his jacket and just hands it over. Bucky, on the other hand, his mouth goes dry. He was right earlier when he thought Steve was gonna look wonderful in that suit. Or maybe he was wrong. Wonderful doesn’t even come close. 

It fits him brilliantly. Curves to his body like it was grown for him. Maybe it’s not a designer suit, but the satin edges of the lapels and the striped steel blue tie that brings out the blue in Steve’s eyes, well, it leaves Bucky breathless. 

“Wow,” Bucky whispers. “You look amazing.” 

A blush fills Steve’s cheeks as he goes onto say that it doesn’t count since Bucky’s the one who picked it out. Bucky argues that it doesn’t matter. That _Steve’s_ the one making the suit look good, but before they can get any further into the discussion, the hostess comes back to bring them to their table. The back booth. It’s a shared seat along the wall, but damned if Bucky cares. He gets to sit next to Steve this way and Steve certainly doesn’t seem to mind either. Steve just looks through the menu for a few minutes before shaking his head and putting it down with a grimace. 

“Bucky,” he murmurs. “Can we afford this place?”

“Hey.” Bucky places a hand over Steve’s. “I’m taking my baby doll out for our anniversary. To hell with the costs.”

“But…” Steve glances around again. “This is a really nice restaurant.” 

Bucky lifts the hand under his and gives Steve’s knuckles a kiss. “I know. Don’t you worry about it. I got it all taken care of.” 

Folding in a smile, Steve goes back to looking over the menu until the waiter comes over. With a nice smile and a welcoming greeting. One Bucky’s used to and misses. The young man is dressed in nice suit -- not an apron with stains on it. Then again, no one here knows their names either. Or what they want right away. Not like at _Cartinelli’s_.

“Can I get you started with anything?” he asks. 

“Oh…” Steve glances over the menu again. Quicker this time like if he doesn’t hurry up he won’t be able to get anything at all. “Um…”

Bucky smiles and reaches over to lower Steve’s menu for him. He takes a second to show off a little. Or a lot. 

“We’ll start with the Foie gras brulé with the candied pistachios and white port gelée. Also the warm artichoke with the mustard mayonnaise and frisee.” Bucky can feel Steve’s eyes on him. He sneaks the quickest of peeks to see a little smirk on his face. “I’ll have the veal milanese, a little extra on the parmesan and light on the lemon, please. And I _think_ …” He glances at Steve now, who covers that smirk with his knuckles. “He’ll have either the sesame crusted salmon with sautéed potatoes.” Steve was always a sucker for seafood and the Irish in him has always been drawn to potatoes. “ _Or_ maybe the roasted Dover sole with lemon potatoes.”

Both Bucky and the waiter turn to look at Steve at the same time. His mouth opens to answer, but the first thing that comes out is a laugh. He shakes his head and wipes at his eyes a little like they’re tearing up. 

“Um… well…” He smiles and shrugs. “Yeah, okay, I’ll have the salmon.” 

Bucky grins at his own ability to guess what Steve would want to order. 

“Very good, sir,” the waiter says. “And may I just say, those are all very fine choices.”

“Why, yes…” Bucky fixes his tie and smirks. “You may. We’ll also have a bottle of Lafite, ‘82.”

“Babe…” Steve leans over to murmur, “That’s an $800 of wine.”

Taking in a deep breath, Bucky remembers there are still limits to what he can do here tonight and he nods before remedying that one. 

“We’ll just have some red wine. By the glass.”

Once the waiter takes the menus and leaves again, Bucky peers up at Steve. Lips tucked under his teeth. Eyebrows lifted just slightly. Wondering -- _hoping_ \-- that he’s doing a good job. Steve hasn’t noticed yet. He’s sipping his water and looking around and even tapping his wedding band with his thumb.

Until he goes to say something. What, Bucky never finds out, because when Steve turns and sees the look he’s getting, he scoffs a laugh and shakes his head. 

“Oh, don’t you give me that look, mister,” he scolds. “This is good, but you _forgot_ our anniversary. You are _so_ not off the hook yet.” 

“Mm.” Bucky scoots closer and nudges Steve’s shoulder with his. “But I’m getting closer, right?” 

Clearly fighting back a smile, Steve reaches for his water again instead of answering that outright. Bucky, his ears catching the soft song being played on the piano on the other end of the dining room, sees another opportunity to do something to butter Steve up a bit. 

“You wanna dance?” 

Steve looks around the place. Must note that not only is there no one else dancing, but also there’s no real _room_ for dancing. 

“I don’t… I don’t think this is a dancing sort of place, Bucky.” 

“Sure it is,” Bucky says. “It’s whatever we want it to be. Come on. Join me for a spin, baby doll.” 

“You know I’ll end up stepping all over your feet.”

“So?” Bucky shrugs and is already pushing out of the booth. “Never stops you from dancing with me in the kitchen at home.” He holds his hand out. “Please?”

He gives in then, with a blush on his cheeks and a soft smile on his lips, and slips his hand in Bucky’s to let him help him out of his seat. There really isn’t much room, and a few people turn to look -- most of them just smiling at the couple brazen enough to dance -- even the pianist grins at them, but it does happen to be perfect for them at the moment. 

Bucky’s able to hold Steve close. One hand on his lower back, the other laced with Steve’s while Steve ends up with his head resting on his shoulder as they sway back and forth to the music in their own little private spot. It’s amazing to have Steve in his arms like this. Pressed against him. Almost like holding a heart beat. Precious and warm. So full of trust. Eyes falling closed, Bucky lets his cheek rest gently upon Steve’s hair.

As predicted, Steve _does_ step on his foot. All it does is make Bucky hiss and then laugh when Steve shoots up to apologize. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Bucky assures him. “You got this, Stevie.” 

Taking hold of Steve’s hand, Bucky secures him in his embrace and dips him down. Quick and easy, and a startled gasp falls from Steve’s lips. Once he realizes what’s happened and that Bucky’s not about to drop him, he lifts his head up and laughs.

“Not bad for a tire salesman from Long Island,” he teases. 

Bucky smiles. “I have my moments.” 

He leans in for a kiss then, and thinks to himself, as he feathers his lips across Steve’s head, that since being here, this is the first time he’s really let himself _be_ with Steve. Just himself. 

Beneath his chest, Bucky’s heart trembles. Beginning to open to emotions long ago buried. Bucky’s not so sure he can stop it any longer. 

“Oh, wow,” Steve hums as he eats his dinner. Swirls a bit of the salmon across the plate for some more sauce and holds his fork out for Bucky. “Here. You gotta try this.”

Bucky takes the piece that Steve offers and shivers with how amazing it tastes. The food here practically melts on his tongue. Even the cheaper glasses of wine are simply incredible. 

“God, I miss that taste,” he whispers. Then glimpses over at Steve, watching him with wistful eyes. “I mean… you like it?”

The night has been going amazingly well. Between their dancing and the appetizers, Steve’s been talking to Bucky almost like normal. He’s sitting right beside him. Close enough that their thighs brush together. They’ve shared food and light laughs and kisses. 

“It’s delicious,” Steve says. Eyes closing when he slips a potato into his mouth. “Incroyable.” He chuckles before taking a sip of wine and asks, “Can you imagine eating like this _all_ the time?” 

Oh, yes. Yes, Bucky can easily imagine that. He knows just what it’s like to go to places like this and even _better_ whenever he’d like. To have people ready to give him whatever he wants. He watches Steve eating for a little bit. Steve’s face lights up with each bite he takes. Even whenever he washes it down with wine. Bucky just watches his husband enjoying the finer things that Bucky’s failed to give him in this life. 

He’s not even sure how to do that for him. How to get Steve and the kids all they deserve. At one time, just a few weeks ago even, Bucky had everything he needed to do that. Now he’s at a loss. Trying to make his way down a winding road with only his hands out in front of him for assistance. He might’ve gotten the hang of how things go on around here, but, really Bucky has no idea what he’s doing. 

“Steve, I… I need to tell you something.” 

As soon as he says that, Steve swallows the bit he’s just been chewing and gives him his attention. When Bucky doesn’t say anything, since all words gets jumbled up as they try to come up his throat at once, Steve leans in a little closer.

“Okay…?”

“There’s a good chance it could make things better. But it… there’s… also a slight chance it could make things worse.” Steve’s lips set in a line as he waits for him to go on. “I’m living someone else’s…” No. No, no, he can’t put it that way. Bucky takes a gulp of his wine and starts again. “I feel like I’m living someone else’s life.” 

Steve, sitting up a little straighter, nods for him to continue, but doesn’t comment. 

“I remember, I used to walk to work, and, ah… I had a warm Bialy in my hand… a hot cup of coffee from Dean & Deluca…” So long ago. It’s been years, but Steve’ll remember a similar image from their college years. “The crisp feeling of the Wall Street Journal… the smell of leather from my briefcase. I used to be so _sure_ about everything. Confident, you know? I knew exactly _who_ I was and what I _wanted_. And then, one morning I woke up and suddenly it was all different.”

Shifting a little, Steve asks, “Worse, do you mean?”

“No.” Bucky shakes his head and then thinks on that for just a second. “Well, maybe a few things, but mostly just different.” 

He _thought_ they were worse, at first. He’d’ve bet money that that opinion wouldn’t’ve changed. Turns out he was wrong. Different, doesn’t mean worse. It’s not worse. It’s not bad. It’s just different. And Bucky looks back at Steve again. 

“I just… it’s okay, y’know?” Bucky goes on. “The thing is, though, I never used to be like this, Steve. I was the guy who had it all figured out. I had no doubts. I had no regrets.”

Lips pressed together, Steve looks at him like he’s nervous to say whatever it is that’s on his mind right now. Whatever it is takes him two tries. 

“And…” He picks a little at the tablecloth. “And now?”

“I don’t,” Bucky says. “Have it figured all out, I mean.” 

When he says that, Steve’s mouth pulls up in a relieved and happy grin.

“Me neither.” 

That, though, surprises Bucky. It really does. Steve, for all the time Bucky’s been here, is almost always smiling and taking on this task for the kids and getting something else done. Nothing ever seems to bother him. His contentment by this life they’ve made here has been nothing short of shocking to Bucky. They’ve barely scratched the surface of their dreams and yet Steve’s always acted like they’ve all come true. 

“But you…” Bucky fiddles with his fingers. “You always seem so sure of everything.” 

Steve laughs and holds Bucky’s hand. “Oh, sweetheart, you think there aren’t mornings that I don’t wake up and have to _drag_ myself out of bed? Mornings I don’t think _what the_ hell _am I doing back on_ Long Island?”

“Yeah!” Bucky exclaims. “Yeah, I… right…”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. Gives Bucky’s hand a squeeze. “The house is a mess, my office is a dump. I answer my own phone and you’ve seen my paycheck.”

“Your paycheck,” Bucky laughs, “is a disgrace to paychecks.” 

Chuckling, Steve takes another sip of his wine and seems to savor the taste. He even swirls what’s left in it around in his glass a bit. 

“Can you imagine a life where everything was just easy?” he asks. “Y’know, like, where you asked for things and people just… _give_ ‘em to you?” 

Very easily, actually. Bucky nods and sighs, remembering the life he left behind when this glimpse started. 

“It’s wonderful,” he murmurs.

“I think about it, too, Bucky. I do,” Steve admits. “I wonder, sometimes, what sorta life I’d have if I hadn’t married you.” 

A pain touches Bucky’s heart, his stomach flattening. The thought of Steve and him not being married, for some reason, puts ice in his veins. Lead in his throat. 

“And?” 

“And…” Steve reaches for his hand again. Turns it over and holds it with both of his. “Then I realize that I’ve just erased the things I _am_ sure about. The kids.” Steve’s thumb skims over Bucky’s skin. Soft and comforting. “ _You_ , Bucky.”

A smile curves up one corner of Bucky’s mouth. “Good things.” 

Steve smiles back at him. Even leans in to kiss him. Soft and gentle, the restaurant around them disappearing for just a second. 

“What about you, babe?” Steve questions. “What are _you_ sure about?”

At one time, Bucky would have had an answer for that. Easily, really. Like he said to Steve, he’d been sure about everything. Like he’d said to Eli, he had everything he needed. Now, there’s only one way for Bucky to answer that. Only one way for Bucky to answer honestly.

“I’m sure, that right now? There isn’t _any_ place I’d rather be than right here with you.”

There’s a warm glow to Steve’s eyes. A pull to the corners of his mouth. And he hums softly as he leans closer and feathers a light kiss upon Bucky’s lips. 

When dinner is finished, after two cups of coffee and caramel apple pie with green apple sorbet for Steve and warm chocolate cake with vanilla ice cream for Bucky, Bucky is pleasantly surprised to realize that Steve hadn’t figured out they’d be spending the night there in the city.

“What’d you think the bags were for?” Bucky chuckles when he gets their things from the coat check. “Why else would I have brought them?”

“I thought… I dunno. Maybe you wanted to change before going home.” When Bucky just snickers, Steve scoffs and gives him a gentle push. “Shut up.”

Bucky still laughs and can’t help telling Steve just how cute he is to which Steve makes a face and rolls his eyes as they leave the restaurant. The hotel they’re staying at isn’t far -- maybe a fifteen minutes walk -- but it’s cold enough that they opt for a cab. Sharing the ride over is nicer anyway since Steve cozies up next to him in the back seat. 

They don’t get very much of that since the cab is pulling over in front of the place and Bucky is paying the fare in just a few minutes. He helps Steve out of the cab and grabs their bags. Turns back with a big smile on his face. Except that Steve is now eyeing him suspiciously as they stand in front of the hotel his smile vanishes and he cringes. 

“What?!” Bucky exclaims. Starts checking himself like maybe he’s done something wrong that he’s forgotten about. “What’d I _do_?”

“We’re going someplace _else_ , right?” Steve asks. Arms crossed in front of his chest. “Holiday Inn or Best Western?”

Oh. _Oh_ , that’s what he’s getting at. Bucky looks back at the glass doors of the front entry to the hotel before giving Steve a sheepish grin. He shakes his head.

“No,” he says, softly. “This is where we’re staying. Honest.” 

“Bucky!” he shrieks loud enough that Bucky winces and a few passersby give him a look. “This is… but… we can’t…” Steve’s eyes are round as saucers, his mouth stuck open as more words fumble out of it. “How… Bucky! This is a five star hotel!”

“I… I know.” That little grin of his still hasn’t faded. It’s kind of nice getting Steve all flustered like this. He should do it more often. “Didn’t I tell you I had it all worked out? I know how to get good deals. And besides…” Bucky takes in a deep breath. “You’re worth it. Trust me? Please?”

Steve buries his head into Bucky’s shoulder instead of answering that and keeps quiet as they head inside. Even as Bucky checks them in under his name and in the elevator as they make their way to the room. He makes a little face at Bucky when he’s asked to keep his eyes closed, but he does do as requested and allows Bucky to lead him in by the hands. 

“No peeking,” Bucky says, giving the door a shove open with his hip. “Keep your eyes closed.”

“They _are_!” Steve laughs. “I’m not looking, I swear!” 

Once they’re in enough, Bucky uses his elbow to flick the lights on and checks over his shoulder to make sure everything is the way he expected it to be. He smiles as he guides Steve further into the room. Everything looks perfect. 

“Alright,” Bucky murmurs when they’re in the middle of the room. “Go ahead. Open up.” 

One of Steve’s eyes opens first. The second it does, the other eye goes just as wide. His jaw drops when he sees the room Bucky’s gotten them for the night. A master suite with a private sitting area and a spectacular city view. Roses on the bed. 

“Oh… oh, Bucky…” he whispers as looks around the room, awestruck and speechless. 

His fingers skim the edge of the bed, the top of the dresser, the arm of the sitting chair. Eyes full of surprise while he draws back the sheer curtains to look outside. 

While he does that, Bucky takes the bottle of champagne from the bucket of ice he made sure would be waiting for them and begins to open it. The cork popping out startles Steve enough to jump with a yelp and swirl back around. He laughs along with Bucky as he starts taking off his suit jacket. 

“You know champagne makes me wanna do crazy things,” he chuckles. 

“Oh, well,” Bucky replies as he pours two glasses, “I’ll just fill yours to the top then.” 

Steve snorts as he comes back over and takes the chute Bucky holds out for him. He looks around the room again and then slips a hand onto Bucky’s hip. Holds up the glass and lets it clink gently with Bucky’s before taking a sip. 

“I dunno how you did, babe,” he says. Gazes so deeply into Bucky’s eyes it’s like he can see right into Bucky’s heart. Can see the jubilant and blissful way it beats when Steve touches him like this. “But you pulled it off.”

An excited -- maybe even a _tiny_ bit proud -- grin curls up on Bucky’s mouth. He tries to rein it in, but Steve’s words make it kind of difficult. Bucky even dares to wrap his arm around Steve’s neck so he can kiss him. 

“I’m off the hook?” he asks. Hopeful. Excited.

“ _Way_ off,” Steve answers. With a kiss, too. And another. “You may even get lucky tonight.” 

That smile gets even bigger. “Okay, wait. There’s… one more thing.”

“Bucky…” Steve laughs. “I already told you you’re gonna get lucky.”

“No, no. It’s…” 

Bucky points to the bed. He’s really excited about this part. Hopes that it’ll really make an impression on Steve, too. The roses he made sure to order for the room are all different colors. None the traditional red rose. There’s a card with them to explain what each color means -- courage, respect, beauty, joy, friendship, desire, unity, appreciation, enchantment, loveliness and jovial. The whole bunch is wrapped in a silk scarf that says _Happy Anniversary_ since twelve years is apparently the “silk” year. 

“There’s…” Steve must run over the amount a few times after Bucky tells him to count them. “There’s eleven roses?” 

“Yes,” Bucky says. Smirk on his face. “Do you like them?”

“I do.” He gives them a light sniff and even lets the buds run across his cheek. “They’re beautiful. I just… thought… y’know since we’ve been married twelve years and a dozen roses is the…” Steve pauses and must put together that there’s more to this than meets the eye. He looks up and snickers. “Why’re there eleven roses?”

“Turn the card over,” Bucky whispers. 

Flowers still in hand, Steve keeps his gaze at Bucky before doing what he told him to. Steve flips the card over. Where Bucky knows it’s explained that eleven roses is meant to assure the recipient that they are truly and deeply loved. As he reads, eyes getting misty, Bucky plucks the single red rose from behind the mirror on the dresser. 

“And one more,” he says when Steve looks back up. “One single red rose. Because I love you.” 

The words fall from his lips as warm and natural as the last time he ever said them to Steve Rogers. But as Steve takes the flower and goes on to thank him again, the air in Bucky’s lungs freezes. His heart, which he’d taken to ignoring so very long ago, suddenly springs open, spilling upon him so many emotions at once that Bucky drowns in them. He can’t breathe. Can’t see. Can’t hear. 

There’s nothing past the undeniable truth that surrounds him now. When he resurfaces, nothing is the same. And he’s certain they never will be again. 

“My god,” he whispers, nearly choking on his own breath.

“What?” Steve asks. “I didn’t…” The tears that fill Bucky’s eyes must startle him. “Bucky? Baby, what’s wrong?”

“All this time…” Bucky reaches out and grazes Steve’s cheek. “All these years. I’ve never stopped loving you.” 

“Bucky,” Steve breathes. “I love you, too.” 

“Oh, Steve.” Those tears get the better of him. Burn his eyes as they fall one by one like a bullet to his heart. “I’m so sorry.” 

“No. No, Bucky, babe.” Steve wipes some of the tears away with gentle fingers and hugs him close. Wraps Bucky in such warmth and tenderness, and Bucky hands clench the back of his shirt. Never wants to let go. “It’s okay. We’re okay, babe.”

A tremor runs down Bucky’s spine. He can’t apologize for everything he wants to apologize for. For leaving him at the airport that day. For ending things. For not being there for him when his mother died. For not giving him the life he deserves. For everything. 

The past eleven years Bucky’s been ignoring a whole part of himself. Pushing people away. Because that piece of him still belonged to Steve Rogers. 

“Hey,” Steve whispers. Goes to move away, but doesn’t when Bucky shakes his head and whimpers slightly. “What’s wrong, Bucky?”

Breathing him in deeply, Bucky does what he can to get ahold of himself. Now is not the time to be breaking down and frightening Steve. He’s done enough screwing up during the time he’s been here. Bucky eases away from Steve’s embrace with the painful feeling that he’ll never be wrapped in his arms again. 

“Nothing,” he murmurs. Fits a hand to Steve’s face and takes in all the features he’s had the dizzying pleasure of doing for weeks and hasn’t fully allowed himself to. “I just… I love you so much, Steve. So much.” 

Steve places his hand over Bucky’s, his eyes glistening like sunrise over the ocean shoreline. There’s a warm smile on Steve’s face as he eases closer for a kiss. Overcome with so much love and emotion, all Bucky can do is kiss him back. Feel the way his body moves in sync with his as heat rolls through him. Molden gold. The sweet sensation of having Steve pressed against him, those soft locks of golden hair between his fingers, Steve’s hands at his waist tugging him closer and closer. 

Their movements are slow. Unrushed, even when they fall into the bed. There’s no real hurry as Bucky takes to undressing Steve -- unknotting his tie and unbuttoning his shirt while Steve gazes up at him with all the love and trust in the world -- even though he wants nothing more than for this to happen and happen now. But he also wants to savor this. For everything running through him to last for as long as possible. It doesn’t matter how badly his body burns with his own needs. 

All Bucky cares about is the taste of Steve’s skin beneath his lips. How it quivers wherever he kisses. The sweet symphony of soft noises that rise and circle around him. Steve reaches for him. Hands tugging at his lower back so he can pull him in closer as their bodies roll and fit together like they were made for each other. 

“I love you, Bucky,” Steve murmurs, breathless and panting. “I love you so much.”

“I…” Bucky can barely speak at all. “Oh, Steve… I love you. Steve… Steve… I love you…” His eyes fall closed and he presses his brow against Steve’s temple. “I’m sorry.” The words just spill from his mouth again. “I’m so sorry, Steve.”

They don’t quite stop their movements, but Steve slows, coaxing Bucky’s gaze back to his. 

“Why, baby? What’re you sorry for?”

Everything, Bucky wants to tell him. For leaving. For letting go. For lying. To him, that day on the phone. To himself, for all these years. For trying to forget and erase Steve Rogers with a string of empty faces that could never fill the hole that was left the day Bucky boarded the plane to Russia.

“I should’ve been telling you,” he whispers instead. “Every day. How much I’ve always loved you.”

Steve smiles softly, a gently hum on his lips as he guides Bucky back down so they can resume their kissing. 

Heat rolls over Bucky every time Steve quivers beneath him. He trails kisses over every inch of Steve’s body. _Every_ speck of skin he can get his lips upon, making Steve’s entire body shake so much the bed practically vibrates with him. When Bucky wraps his mouth around Steve’s cock, Steve cries out in blissful abandon -- forgetting to be shy and quiet, and beginning to let go.

He takes his time opening him up. Slowly adding one finger at a time and moving them teasingly slow until he finds Steve’s prostate. Dragging them across it every now and then and watching the stars light behind his eyes each time. 

“Bucky…” Steve is staring up at him, sweaty and panting and with fire in his eyes. “Bucky, I need you. Please… I need you now…”

He shouts into the sweet sensations of oblivion when Bucky eases into him, and Bucky’s never felt so close to the man he loves. Steve’s lips find his body as their hips rock together. They move across his throat and up his neck. 

“Steve,” Bucky groans. “You feel so… so good…”

Every inch of Bucky is burning brilliantly. Vibrating with each new sensation that pumps through him. Bucky’s never felt so alive. So in love. Right on the cusp and ready to hand everything over to Steve. To the man he’s loved for the past twelve years. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! and all your lovely comments :) 
> 
> feel free to find me on tumblr. A place for marvel and stucky and fun [thebestpersonherelovesbucky](http://www.thebestpersonherelovesbucky.tumblr.com/)


	8. Family Ties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **trigger warning** : brief mentions of secondhand homophobia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, you may have noticed an increase in chapter numbers. I didn't realize just how long this chapter was ((it was double the length of all the others)) and I know some people would be okay with that, but it didn't feel right with the flow of the story. So I split this one, along with what would've been the last one into two chapters. Hope no one minds a chapter of _mostly_ domestic fluff before the story starts to come to a close.

“You’re trembling,” Steve whispers. 

Golden rays of morning sunlight pirouette through the window, giddily twirling upon the floor and shining brightly into the room. Sunrise spreads over Manhattan. On the streets below, the world goes on as normal. People bustle about, cars inch forward as they make their way through the busy city streets, vendors selling this and that. The pulse of life still beating. 

“I know,” Bucky answers. Looks brightly up at Steve hovered over him. A sheen of sweat shines across Bucky’s body as Steve uses a soft cloth to gently wipe him down. “I’ll be alright.” 

He’s not sure if that’s true or not. What Bucky is sure of is the bubble that’s circled around them is clear and shiny and iridescent. Beautiful as it is fragile. One slight touch will make it all pop. Ruin what’s housed inside. This love that Bucky’s been trying to pretend hasn’t been stored inside of him all along. 

It’s an incredible feeling, really. Being so in love with someone. Almost frightening. Bucky’s shining, inside and out. Glitter that sparkles through him as Steve leans in to give Bucky’s nose another peck. Then, Bucky glances at the clock on the night stand and grimaces. 

“I don’t want this to end,” Bucky whispers, grazing a hand gently across Steve’s cheek and reveling in Steve’s grin back down at him. 

“I know,” he murmurs. Shifts slightly and drops a kiss to the side of Bucky’s shoulder. “But I think the kids’ll miss us.” He eases gently away from Bucky, disengages their bodies from their early morning acts, and lays down again. Scoops Bucky into his arms and Bucky happily becomes a tangled mess of sheets and limbs. “And we’ll probably end up missing them, don’t you think?”

Steve’s not wrong. He will miss the kids. He’ll miss Sarah’s blunt honesty and perseverance. He’ll miss Ian falling asleep in his arms and his happy little face when he gets him up on his mornings. He’ll miss the bedtime stories and the horrible cartoons and crazy bathtimes. He’ll miss rolling around on the floor with them and Cap and even out in the snow with Clint and his kids.

Bucky has no idea when this happened. When one night apart from them would result in the realization that he’d actually miss them if he was away from them much longer, but now that Steve’s pointed it out he can’t deny the truth of it. Bucky will definitely miss them. 

The thing is, Bucky’s not really sure what he means when he says that he doesn’t want this to end. This time here spent with Steve for their anniversary. Or something much bigger than that. 

***

After they order room service for breakfast, which Bucky assures Steve again that it’s fine -- “We’d just go out for breakfast anyway, it’s okay, baby doll, trust me” -- Bucky suggests they take a turn in the nice, big soaker tub in the bathroom. They might be able to squeeze in in the bathtub they have at home -- although Bucky doesn’t know for sure since he hasn’t tried yet -- this one will fit them with room to spare. 

Steve is quick to agree and is pleasantly surprised to learn that it’s a jacuzzi tub as well. 

“ _Oh,_ my god,” he groans. Eye rolling dramatically as he sinks in with Bucky. “We have _got_ to get one of these one day.”

The second he says that, Bucky begins crunching the numbers. Steve’s birthday is in July. Maybe he can surprise him with something nice like this if he puts in enough overtime. 

“Are you saying my fingers aren’t magical enough?” Bucky teases anyway. “You didn’t seem to mind them very much last night, punk.” 

Giving him a sly grin, Steve scooches a little closer to him, closing that tiny bit of space between them. 

“Your fingers are _quite_ enough, jerk,” Steve grumbles back. “More than enough. I…” Bucky slipping a hand across his thigh dries up whatever smartass answer he was trying for there. “I… uh…” He takes in a deep breath and lets it out with a whimper as that hand sneaks closer to his crotch. “ _Bucky_ …”

Bucky snickers. “What, baby doll?”

“P-Please…” He whines slightly. “Don’t be a tease…” 

Just another thing that hasn’t changed. Steve’s always been such a sucker for teasing and though he might start off a bit quiet and shy about sex, once Bucky got him going, he was a little a sex _machine_. Bucky laughs quietly and shows him some mercy. Slides his hand away and instead lets his arm wrap around Steve’s waist. The second he does that, Steve rests his head on his shoulder. Bucky, heart full and ready to burst with happiness, leans against Steve in response. 

“I’ll get you back, y’know,” Steve mutters. “For the teasing.” 

Bucky snorts. “I’m sure you will.” 

Steve chuckles and nuzzles against him some more. Under the warm, bubbly water, he hooks their ankles and then uses his index finger to draw silly patterns with droplets of water across Bucky’s chest. 

“Thank you, babe,” Steve says softly after a few minutes of sweet, contenting silence.

“For what, baby doll?”

Steve turns just enough to press his lips to Bucky’s collarbone, and Bucky smiles and hums. 

“For this,” he says. “For last night. For these past twelve years.” Bucky’s smile fades. “Just… for everything.”

For a moment, Bucky can only stare across the bathroom with Steve held tightly in his arms. He’s been here before. Not this room in particular, but this high-end hotel. Places much nicer than this one. A few weeks ago, he’d’ve given anything just to be able to get a room here. For a night, a weekend, a week. For business, for pleasure. 

Now, he just might give anything for Steve’s words to be true. For him to be deserving of Steve’s gratitude. 

“You’re…” Not you’re welcome. He can’t take credit for the things he hasn’t done. Bucky’s not the one who’s been around for twelve years doing whatever it is that’s made Steve so happy. Bucky kisses the top of Steve’s head and says what he can that is true. “I love you, Steve.” 

They have to check out in just an hour. There’s not much for them to gather up since it’s only been an overnight stay, but Bucky catches Steve smiling at his roses -- bringing them to his nose and giving them a grin -- before they leave. He doesn’t say anything. Not even when he notices Bucky watching him. Steve just looks back at his flowers and smiles some more. 

They’re both quiet on their way home. A little sad, maybe, that their impromptu getaway is over, but mostly, Bucky thinks, just happy to be with each other. Steve sighs a few times. Sighs of contentment. Holding Bucky’s hand or leaning into his side or just looking over at him with a smile. 

When they pull into their station, it’s been long enough since they’ve had breakfast that both their stomachs are growling and early enough that they still have a bit of time to stop off for some lunch. Since it’s been such an eventful weekend, Steve suggests they continue with the festivities by going someplace nice. 

That means Denny’s of course, and Bucky holds back the roll of his eyes as he sits there at the name-brand diner, eating cheap steak and fries. This food isn’t nearly as good as last night’s. Doesn’t melt in his mouth and comes with a soda instead of wine, but he’s eating with Steve and, right now, that’s just as good. 

“You wanna drop our stuff off first?” Bucky asks as they leave. Arm swung over Steve’s shoulders. “Or pick up the kids first?”

“Uh…” Steve gives him a bashful smirk. “Mind if we get the kids first? I… kinda miss them.” 

Bucky chuckles and opens the passenger side door for him and doesn’t bother saying he likes that idea. Instead, he asks that Steve gives the Bartons a call so they know that they’re on the way. Turns out they actually don’t need to do anything other than go straight home anyway since Clint and Laura had the kids out at the library.

“They’re on their way back now,” Steve tells him, and, damn it, just the thought of getting to see the kids after a single night apart has the guy lighting up light Christmas morning. Bucky can’t help the laugh that bubbles in his belly. “They’ll meet us at the house.” 

Bucky’s pulling in front of the house before anyone else is even there. Which gives them some time start bringing in their things inside. Steve brings in their suits -- his which’ll be returned on Monday -- to hang them up. Bucky’s gone back out to get their overnight bags just when Clint’s van is parking behind the car. 

Bag slung over his shoulder, Bucky waves when Clint honks the horn a few times. As soon as the van is in park, the side door is sliding open and Sarah is climbing over Cooper and Lila in her haste to get out. 

“Papa!” she exclaims. Runs out of the van with something in her hands. “Papa, Papa! Look what I made!” 

“What’chya got there, kiddo?” Bucky asks as he scoops her up. 

He gets a good look at it when she shows him. Looks like a plastic orange juice container turned upside down and attached to a plastic dish. It’s all dazzled up. Colorful construction paper with crayon images drawn on it, sparkling stickers, glitter. 

“It’s a bird feeder,” she explains. “Can we hang in the backyard? Can we? And see the birds eating?”

Bucky laughs and adjusts his hold around her so that she doesn’t slip down. There’s no bird feed in there just yet, but he doubts Steve’ll mind very much. This time a year they might get some pretty red cardinals. 

“That sounds like a good idea.” He gives her cheek a pinch and puts her back down. “Why don’t you go inside and show Daddy?”

“Okay!” 

Sarah runs off with her plastic bird feeder, calling out for Steve as soon as she trots up the front steps. As soon as she’s at the door, Bucky goes over to the Barton’s van so he can get Ian and the kids’ bags. Clint is already getting Ian out of the carseat for him. 

“How’d it go?” Clint asks. “Did you win him over? Make up for you epic screw up?”

“As a matter of fact,” Bucky says as he reaches in for the kids’ bags, “I didn’t do too bad for myself.” He gives Clint a sly grin. Then, “So whatever bets you guys got going you can call ‘em off.”

A scandalized expression runs across Clint’s face, but Bucky knows them all well enough by now to know they’ve probably got _something_ going on. A pool running on how long it took for him to get out of the dog house or close the deal or something. 

Ignoring Clint’s not-so-innocent look, Bucky sticks his head back in the van before taking Ian out of his seat so he can thank Laura for all her help. 

“They weren’t any trouble,” he asks, “were they?”

“Oh, no trouble at all,” she assures him. “They were great.”

“Yeah?” Bucky gives his attention to Ian and now that he’s looking at him, Ian lights up with a smile and holds his arms up. “Heya, big guy. Come on here to Papa.”

With Ian in his arms now and all the bags slung over his shoulders, Bucky thanks Clint and Laura again -- makes a mental note to thank everyone else for all their help with making this possible -- and heads inside. Ian is chewing on his fingers and hands and rubbing them across Bucky’s cheeks as they get through the front door. 

Inside, Sarah is following Steve around while he picks up the clutter that no one got a chance to get to before their random outing as she tries to demonstrate some new pirouettes that she can barely do at all. The second Ian catches sight of Steve he’s trying to wiggle out of Bucky’s arms and shouting something that sounds like _da_! over and over again. When Steve notices, he comes running over to gather the little babbling bundle in his arms and spins around with him while Sarah demands in a tiny, childish voice that someone just watch her new dance move so she can go do something else. 

And just like that the peace and quiet and privacy of the weekend is over. The luxury and splendor that washed over Bucky like a finely aged Scotch -- golden and honeyed and warmed -- is replaced with the simple, age old mediocrity. Gone is the decadence and grandeur of the dazzling life he was able to take one tiny taste of again, the teasing flavor lingering over his tongue in dizzying delights. The reality of his situation, of the glimpse he’s been living in since waking here on Christmas morning, washes away whatever taste he’d like to savor with two noisy kids and a messy house and a husband shouting something about needing to go shopping. 

Yet that bubble -- shiny and bright and iridescent -- the one Bucky was so sure would pop with one wrong move back with Steve at the hotel, is still in tact. Still holds in the warmth and love he felt back there. The air vibrates with it. Bucky’s not sure why he hadn’t noticed before. It glistens like a star-studded sky -- the only light Bucky needs in the velvety darkness that blankets over the night that settles over a suburban Long Island town. 

And Bucky, as he slips off his shoes and goes upstairs to unpack, even with all the noise and mess and chaos creeping in, just smiles. 

***

“I’m going to run the marathon.” 

The announcement definitely has the desired effect. As soon as the words leave Bucky’s mouth, everyone in the kitchen stops what they’re doing and stares at him. Sam is even in the middle of taking a sip of orange juice and doesn’t. 

It’s a Thursday and it’s his day. The fact that he’s up already, though, is probably more surprising than how he’s greeted the kitchen full of people eating breakfast. Even Sarah and Ian are still sleeping and the other three haven’t gone for their run yet.

“Um…” Maria clears her throat. “What was that?”

Proud of the decision he’s been working on for the past week, Bucky squares his shoulders and nods. When they all go on just staring at him, Bucky’s shoulders fall. Even Steve is eyeing him like the idea is absurd. 

“What?” Bucky asks. “Why’re you guys _looking_ at me like that?” 

Over by the counter, Sam finally takes that sip of juice and then sets his glass down. 

 

“The _New York_ marathon?” he questions. “The one in November? Is that what we’re talking about?” 

“Uh-ha.” Bucky shrugs a shoulder and goes over to the coffee pot to get himself a cup. Boy, he’s gonna regret this extra hour by noon. “Is there another one?” 

Maria chuckles and picks up her foot to stretch her leg. “Sure. But that’s the popular one.” 

“Okay then.” Bucky grins at that. Hopes for some reaction now but still only gets those stares of disbelief. Three pairs of eyes that do nothing but blink. “Oh, come on!” he whines. “ _What_?” 

It’s Steve who chuckles. Pushes away from the table and comes over to give Bucky a playful hug. Even a teasing tickle to his ribs. 

Things have been different between them. Easier. Lighter. For Bucky, anyway, who eases into Steve’s hug like a flower longing for the sun. Breathes him in and almost forgets what they’re talking about. 

“You really wanna run the marathon, babe?” he asks. “You’re sure?”

Bucky, doing nothing to move away from Steve’s hug, looks up at him. Says, “You don’t think I can?”

“I think you can do anything,” Steve says. Smiles and adds, “Except get up early everyday to train for a marathon.” 

Jaw dropping indignantly, Bucky makes a half-hearted attempt to retaliate, only to be interrupted by Sam’s laughter and alliance to Steve.

“And give up chocolate cake.” 

“And _train_ ,” Maria chimes in. “Train pretty damn hard.” 

“Oh, come on!” Bucky jerks his knee a bit and leans into Steve’s side. “I’m telling you I _can_ do this! I can! I’ve already come up with a routine with Natasha last night.” Who told him she’d come up and personally kick his ass if he didn’t stick to it. “And Sharon said she’d help with a diet plan.” Bucky’s pretty sure that Peggy and Angie will be able to cook him up some wonders over at the diner that’ll go along with that. “You guys’ll help me, too.” He gives them all the best sheepish look he can pull out. Lip all pouty. Eyes round and peering up at his husband. “Right?”

It’s Steve who caves first, burying his face between Bucky’s neck and shoulder and promising to help in anyway he needs. Exercise, diet, moral support. Even swearing to be there at the finish line waiting for him. Both Sam and Maria agree to offer whatever help they can as well. 

Bucky may have had his own personal trainer back in his life, but this is an entirely different type of training. Maybe he doesn’t have a certified personal trainer, but, as far as he’s concerned, he’s got some of the best trainers around here. And they’re all free. 

“What in the world made you want to do this?” Steve asks as Bucky goes to pour himself that cup of coffee he never got to before. 

Shrugging, Bucky takes a fast sip of his coffee and burns his tongue. “Um, y’know, I just thought it’d be fun. And just to do something different.”

“My Bucky is just full of surprises lately,” Steve says over at the table again. Picking at his scrambled eggs and winking at Bucky. 

He’s talking about last week’s brilliant idea, when Bucky came home all excited but had to wait until the kids were in bed to finally tell Steve about it. 

“You wanna go to Disney for _Christmas_?” Steve had exclaimed after Bucky told him. “ _Christmas_?”

“I know, I know.” On the bed with Steve, Bucky bounced a little on his knees. “It sounds a little nuts. But just… hear me out, okay?” Steve nodded for him to go on. “You wanted to go during the summer anyway, but it’s _so_ hot then and the lines are crazy--”

“You think they won’t be crazy during the holidays, too?”

Bucky nodded. “Okay, you’re right, you’re right. They will be. But! At least _then_ , it’ll so be _worth_ it! The castle’ll be all done up in lights and Main Street will be decorated and the parades will be all holiday themed. Here, here, look!” 

He hopped off the bed and grabbed his laptop, the browser still on the pages he needed to show Steve exactly how he thought this could all work out. The hotel. The bargains on ticket prices. Different ways they could save money while they’re down there.

“But…” Steve, while there was a definite shimmer to his eyes, wasn’t sold. “What about my dad? He’s never spent the holidays alone.”

“Well, no, I…” Bucky smiled and took Steve’s hand. “I planned for your dad to come, too, you dope. We can’t leave Big Joe behind.”

No way was Bucky gonna do that. And not just for babysitting reasons. He was well aware that Joe had never even been to Disney World before and no one was _ever_ too old for their first trip to Disney World. 

Steve smiled and laughed and kept scrolling through all the fun things Disney had to offer during that time of year. The cute things they could do with the kids. The fun they could all have together. Even maybe a quick getaway for just the two of them if Joe didn’t mind a night with the kids. 

Drumming his fingers just under the keys of the laptop, Steve bit down on his lower lip like he was thinking really hard about the decision Bucky’d given him to make. There was a little crease between his eyes. Almost as though he was getting a headache that didn’t really bother him. 

“Say yes,” Bucky whispered. “Please, say yes?” He turned his lip down. Even laced his fingers and pressed his knuckles under his chin. “It’ll be so much fun, I promise. And plus…” 

Bucky’s gaze swept down. He wasn’t sure how to get it out. How to explain that, even though it wasn’t _totally_ his fault, Bucky wanted to do something special to make up for what happened this year. 

As if knowing exactly what was running through his mind, Steve slipped fingers under Bucky’s chin and lifted. Bucky looked into a pair of warm eyes. Felt the dizzying pleasure of knowing that he didn’t _have_ to say anything. Steve understood without a word. Bucky grinned and rested his brow against Steve’s shoulder. 

Bucky wasn’t sure why he was even making these future plans. A marathon in November, a trip for Christmas. He never planned on being here for that long. He still wasn’t sure if he would be. But if he was, if Eli _still_ hadn’t sent him back to his life, well, it might not be so bad to have some things planned out. Organization. A plan of action. Back ups. It’s just what Bucky did. No reason not to do all that here, too. Just in case. 

Steve chuckled through a sigh and pet the back of Bucky’s head before asking if they could take a little more time to think about it. That maybe they shouldn’t just make a decision right then and there. Sulking -- only slightly, since Steve did have a valid point -- Bucky agreed and they put the matter to rest for the night. Or so Bucky thought until it was two in the morning and Steve was waking him.

“Bucky.” He was shaking his shoulder and Bucky looked up at him through sleepy eyes and blurry vision. “You awake, babe?”

“I’m, uh…” Bucky sucked in a deep breath and sat up. “Yeah.” Not really, no. But he shook his head. Knocked the sleep around a bit to detach himself from its sticky webs. “What’s the matter?”

“No, nothing,” Steve said. “I just… I think we should do it, Bucky.” 

 

Bucky rubbed at his eyes, his brain not fully comprehending what Steve was trying to tell him. 

“Do? Do what?” It only took a second of looking at Steve’s excited smile for it to really click and just like that, Bucky was fully awake. “You mean…” His jaw dropped. He grabbed onto Steve’s hands and held them tight and grinned and shimmied about. “You wanna go to Disney World? For Christmas? Really? You do?”

Laughing, Steve leaned in and kissed him. “Yes. Yeah, I think it’ll be great. Once in a lifetime, y’know?”

“Yes!” Bucky exclaimed and then cringed as both he and Steve quickly looked at the door to make sure his shout of excitement didn’t wake the kids. When it was clear it hadn’t, Bucky said, “Oh, Steve. Oh, this is going to be great. The kids’re gonna have so much fun and Ian _might_ be a little too young to remember it, but he’s gonna love it, too, and you remember how much we loved going to Coney Island and this is like _a thousand_ times that and--what?” he giggled. “Why’re you _laughing_ at me?”

Because that’s exactly what Steve was doing. He was holding it back, yes, but he was definitely laughing at Bucky. 

“How can I not?” Steve answered and drew him in by the arm of his shirt for a kiss. “When you’re just so adorable?” 

Bucky tried to give him a fake pout, but even pretending was far beyond him then. He was too thrilled that Steve wanted to do this and they were taking a family trip next Christmas to Disney World and between the bonus from landing the trucking company deal for Big Joe’s and their tax return, and their savings and whatever other budgeting they do between now and then it was going to be just incredible. Maybe not what it’d be like if Bucky had his old means, and that is a shame because they deserve it, but it would be great. Bucky would see to it. 

“How’m I supposed to fall back to sleep now?” Bucky whispered after they’d been lying down again for a good fifteen minutes. “I’m _too_ excited.”

Behind him, Steve chuckled and kissed the back of Bucky’s neck before easing him over. 

“I love you, babe,” he murmured. “The kids’re asleep.” Steve smiled down at him. “I’ll help you get back to sleep.”

Grinning back up at him, Bucky wrapped his hands arounds the back of Steve’s neck and guided him down for a deep, warm kiss. 

 

Big Joe was beyond thrilled to learn of their brand new holiday plans for the upcoming year when they told him their idea the next day. 

They’ve started to booking process. The planning. They’ve even decided to not say a word of it to Sarah at all. The whole trip is going to be a surprise.

Now that it’s all settled, Bucky can hardly contain his excitement. He feels like a little kid. He’d never got to Disney World as a child and his trips there haven’t exactly been leisurely. They’ve all been for business. This is, well, this is completely different anyway. The magic will still be alive for Sarah and Ian, running through the whole place from park to park and character to character. The princesses will be real to Sarah. Mickey and Minnie won’t be giant costumes to Ian. And he’ll get to experience it through them. Smile with them. Laugh with them. Light up with all that real magic as it sparks and brings them to life. 

All for the first time. 

As a family.

*** 

Sarah huffs again in the back seat of the van. Arms crossed and face hard, she glares out the window and hasn’t said a word since Bucky first picked her up from school. 

“Sarah, sweetheart, there’s always next year.” 

Clearly not in the mood for talking or any sort of parental comfort, Sarah just turns away as much as she can. Which isn’t much given she’s in a booster seat and doesn’t have much room to go anywhere anyway. Despite her tiny, furious expression, Bucky has to hold in a chuckle. That has _Steve_ written all over it. 

They remain quiet the rest of the way home. Only a quick five or ten minutes but it might feel a lot longer to Sarah who probably just wants to get home and sulk in her room. Bucky had no idea how cut-throat grammar school theater was. 

By the time Bucky’s putting the van into park, Sarah’s already climbing out, even leaving her bookbag and lunchbox in the back seat. Bucky almost calls after her, but decides to just let this one go. He reaches around to grab Sarah’s things for her and gets out to follow her in. 

Steve’s already in the living room so there’s no normal hug from behind greeting. He’s standing at the bottom of the stairs, calling up to Sarah but not following up after her. Bucky wonders if that’s one of those reaching out but still trying to give space things. Is that a thing with six year olds?

Instead of bothering with that -- it’s a lost cause, Sarah’s as stubborn as Steve and needs to cool off -- Bucky goes over to where Ian is playing in the living with a whole bunch of his toys. Standing on plump shaky legs today, holding onto the stand-up toy he’s using. Bucky plops down with him so he can get in on the playtime, too. Ian squeaks when he’s there and says his word for Papa. _Pip_ it sounds like, not as close as Daddy, which he’s got as _Da_ , but he’ll take it. 

“Hey, buddy,” he greets. “You have good day?”

Playing with a Little People’s Sit and Stand, Ian’s trying to shove one of the plastic balls into the wrong slot, which’ll do no good if he wants to get it to light up and play music. 

“C’mere.” Bucky guides his hand over to the right space. “Try that one.” 

When the ball runs through the toy -- zigzagging this way and that and getting the colorful lights to shine and the music to start playing -- Ian lets out a squeal of laughter and falls flat on his butt, clapping his hands. Laughing along with him, Bucky rubs his back and looks back over to where Steve is still trying to coax Sarah into coming back downstairs. 

“Steve,” Bucky says. “Leave her alone.” 

The look Steve gives him when he says that is almost deadly. As if suggesting to leave her alone right now is outrageous and wrong and out of the question. Bucky has to hold back a smile. 

“But she’s _upset_ , Bucky,” he grumbles. Wants to yell, Bucky assumes, but won’t. “You want me to just leave her _alone_ when she’s _upset_?”

“Yes.” 

Disbelief flashes across Steve’s face. He opens his mouth to argue some more, but Bucky pushes up on his elbow and doesn’t give him the chance. 

“Let her be upset,” he says. “That’s okay. You know what _you_ get like when you’re upset. You don’t want people bugging you. Why should it be any different for her?”

Steve’s face is turning red. He’s really not liking this conversation. 

“It’s _different_ because she’s my _daughter_.”

“And she’s still a person.” 

That shade of red deepens. Steve sucks in a hard breath through flared nostrils, his fingers curling. Mouth opening a few times like he might want to argue with Bucky’s point, no words ever actually come out before he just storms away into the kitchen. Seconds later, Bucky can hear him in there. Very angrily getting things ready for dinner. 

Snickering, Bucky picks up Ian and brings him upstairs with him while he changes. It’ll be a bit easier to deal with an upset six-year-old and an illogically angry husband in more comfortable clothes.

“We’re the only sane ones tonight, buddy,” Bucky tells Ian as he pulls a sweatshirt over his tee. “Gotta stick together.” Ian, busy stuffing his hand in his mouth, is getting drool all over his shirt. “You’re not givin’ me much to work with, Ian.” 

When they get back downstairs, the noises in the kitchen have quieted to the normal sounds of cooking. At least Steve isn’t banging pots and pans around anymore. Good sign. 

Bucky sits on the floor with Ian, puts an episode of Sesame Street on and plays a bit more with him. He’s still reluctant to walk on his own, choosing to crawl instead, and to be honest, Bucky’s not in a hurry for that to change. If this little monkey gets into everything _now_ he can’t imagine the kind of mischief he’ll get into once he’s that much more mobile. Then again, and Bucky smirks at the thought, the idea of having a hand in helping him learn to walk is pretty cool. 

He’s laying down on the floor, one arm tucked behind his head, the other on Ian’s hip to keep him steady when he hears someone come into the room. Bucky tilts his head back. Sees Steve standing at the end of the couch, lips set in a line, eyes wandering around the room. A look Bucky knows. A look that makes Bucky fold in a smile. 

Instead of acknowledging Steve, Bucky goes back to watching Sesame Street, because if Mr. Noodles doesn’t cut the shit soon Bucky’s gonna have words with Elmo about having him back in his world. 

“Uh… Bucky?” Steve mutters after a few moments of just standing there. “Can I, uh… talk to you?”

Bucky sits back up and sits Ian down so that he doesn’t have to keep helping him with his balance. 

“Sure. What’s up?”

“I’m… um.” Steve sighs and looks down at the floor and mumbles, “M’sorry.” 

“Huh? What was that?” Bucky puts his hand to his ear. “I couldn’t hear you.” 

Steve lifts his head and squares his shoulders. 

“I… might’ve overreacted. I’m sorry.” He grunts to himself, his shoulders sagging and admits, “You were… you were right.”

Bucky chuckles. Steve hasn’t changed. Not one bit. And Bucky’s still just as head over heels in love with him as he was the last time Steve ever apologized for overreacting. 

“Wow, you _really_ hate being wrong, don’t you?” Bucky teases. 

Making a disgruntled face, Steve steps closer and actually sits down on the couch. He shakes his head, clicking his tongue. 

“ _No_. It’s just… I like being _right_ a lot _more_.” He looks up again when Bucky laughs and scoots forward. Steve’s face clears of all the stubbornness now and something warm replaces it. “I’m sorry, babe. I am. I just…” His voice pinches slightly. “I thought we had a few more years before our baby girl started shutting us out.” 

“Aw, Stevie.” Bucky gets up to sit on the couch next to him. “She’s not shutting us out. Sarah’s just upset. We’ll give her some time alone and then talk to her after dinner. That’s all.”

“Yeah.” Steve scrubs a hand over his face. “I know. You’re right, you’re right. I know. You’re right…” 

“You can go ahead and keep saying that,” Bucky jokes. “I won’t mind.”

A laugh bursts from Steve’s belly, rumbling through his chest and brightening his face. That sunny glow beginning to shine through his eyes, even with a few glistening tears hugging their corners -- maybe both from laughing and a touch of empty-nest-syndrome over his six-year-old not wanting to talk right now. 

“Oh,” he singsongs, leaning up against Bucky and humming. “I love you.” 

Bucky slips an arm around his waist. “Good. Cause I love you, too.”

After dinner sees them all in the living room together. Ian’s in his playpen, helpful while they try to talk to Sarah. 

“Are you feeling better now, Sarah?” Bucky asks. 

She was quiet throughout dinner. Answered a few questions about how school was without much prodding and if she had any homework -- luckily she doesn’t since they already prepared and got it done last night. 

Now she sighs and shrugs. “I guess.” 

“Sarah,” Steve says. “You’re not always gonna get everything you want.”

“Yeah,” she grunts. “But _stupid_ Marianne Hawthorne as Cinderella--”

“ _Hey_ ,” Steve scolds. “We do _not_ call people stupid in this house, young lady, you know that.” 

The scowl that wasn’t as pronounced when she’d come down for dinner is starting to come back now. This thirty minute play is _really_ important. 

“We know you practiced the lines to get a part,” Bucky says. “But being in the chorus of the play is okay, too. We’ll be there to see it.”

Sarah shakes her head, her little lip starting to quiver. 

“It’s not… it’s not just that…”

Bucky and Steve exchange a glance. This whole time, Bucky’d been positive Sarah was angry because she didn’t get the part she wanted in her class play. By Steve’s look, he thought the same. Now… they’re clearly not so sure. 

“That’s…” Steve shakes his head. “ _Not_ what you’re upset about?” 

“Yes. But there’s more.” Sarah’s shoulders drop. “But I dunno if I’m ‘apposed to tell you.” 

And now Bucky’s starting to feel way, _way_ out of his league. Being Papa since Christmas might not qualify him for something that Sarah’s not sure if she should share with them or not. Especially when Steve’s already paling. 

“Well, honey.” Steve clears his throat and moves a little closer to her. “You don’t _have_ to tell us if you don’t want to. But if you do, then Papa and I will help to fix it.”

She looks down at her fingers and sighs. “I don’t wanna hurts your feelings.” 

“Our feelings? Sarah, what do you mean?”

The first thing they get out of her is that after she didn’t get the part of Cinderella, she asked if she could be the prince. Her teachers said they’d think it over and let her know later. And then recess happened. 

“And there’s this boy and his name is Decker Johns and he’s a third grader.” Sarah’s voice gets very small and maybe Bucky’s not been here all that long, but he’s never heard her speak like this. “He said that… he said…” She sniffles and rubs her hand across her nose. “He said that I couldn’t be the prince because I’m a girl and that Marianne is a girl too and that two people who are the sames aren’t allowed to be together.” 

Bucky’s heart rate spikes. His first thought is to knock this Decker Johns’s lights out. Then he remembers that Decker’s in the third grade and that’s probably not the best idea. His second thought is to find this kid’s house and knock his parents’ lights out. 

On the other side of Sarah, Bucky watches as Steve breathes in a deep, quiet breath, thoughts of how to handle this already running through his head while Bucky’s just steaming. They work well together, the two of them. No wonder they’ve been able to stick it out all this time. When one is ready to kill, the other is level-headed. There’s never any way to tell which one will be which, but, they definitely work for each other. 

“Is that…” Sarah peers up at them. “Is that true?”

“ _No_ ,” Bucky growls. “Decker Johns is a son of--”

“Bucky.” Steve stops him before he can get any further with that. “No, honey. It’s not true. But…” Steve sighs. Seems he hoped this was an issue they’d either never have to deal with or at least… not for another few years. “Do you know how many ways you’re allowed to live in this world?” Sarah shakes her head. “As many ways as there are people in it. And that’s a whole, _whole_ lot. But not everyone sees it that way. And sometimes you’re gonna run into those people. And sometimes they’ll say and do mean things.”

“But _why_?” she asks. It sounds like she’s gonna cry. “You didn’t do nothing to them. Why do they gotta be mean?”

Steve wraps an around around her shoulder. “I don’t know, Sarah. The only thing I know is that _we_ don’t even stop being nice. And we always help people when they need it. And we stand up for people in trouble.” He slips a hand under her chin. “And I can _promise_ you, that no matter _what_ mean thing _anyone_ _ever_ says or does, this home will _always_ be filled with love. Papa and I love you so much.”

The second he says that, Sarah is hugging him. Steve holds her close and from the little trembles that run through her, Bucky’s pretty sure she’s crying now. 

This isn’t over yet, Bucky knows. He and Steve are going to have to have a long discussion about this later on tonight. About how to handle it. If they should contact the boy’s parents. If they should call the school. If they should call the teacher. But right now the only thing that matters is Sarah. Making sure that Sarah feels safe and loved and comfortable. 

“Can I say that Decker Johns’ a jerk?” she asks. Face still buried in Steve’s sides. 

Steve glances up at Bucky for help. Like he’s unsure how to answer that one. Like there’re quite a few more colorful words he’d like to use, but has no idea if he should be letting his daughter say that. Like he’s already too heartbroken to answer anything else. 

“Yes,” Bucky says for him. “Yes, you can say Decker Johns’ a jerk. You’re allowed to not like someone who’s mean to you. You stay away from him and anyone like him and stay with _your_ friends or your teachers, okay?”

Rubbing the back of her hand across her eyes, Sarah sits back up and nods with a little grin on her face. She then clears her throat as she sits up straight.

“Decker John is a _jerk_ ,” she proclaims. “And _I_ don’t have to like him.”

“Damn straight.”

Bucky holds a hand up for a high-five, thinking a second later maybe he shouldn’t be saying damn to her. But Sarah just slaps his hand and Steve chuckles and asks if she’s feeling better. 

“Mostly better,” she answers.

“ _Mostly_?!” Bucky exclaims. “Only mostly?” He shakes his head. “Well, that just won’t do.” Bucky hops up off the couch and snatches the remote off the table to get to Youtube on the tv. “Sarah, you know there was something I used to do for Daddy when we were younger and he was feeling down?”

“Oh, no,” Steve groans when he sees the song Bucky’s looking for. “Oh, Bucky, c’mon, no.”

But Bucky just ignores him and lets Marvin Gaye and Tammi Tarrell’s _Ain’t No Mountain High Enough_ start playing. When the first note plays, Bucky spins around just as dramatically as he did way back when. When Steve needed a pick me up and no matter how many times Bucky did this it always made him smile. 

He swears he’s not gonna do it this time. That Bucky’s not gonna get him to dance with him, nope, no way is he gonna sing with him. And yet before the first chorus is even over, they’re hand in hand -- Bucky spinning Steve around once -- and both singing loud and silly, and maybe Bucky doesn’t remember doing something similar for Steve’s birthday but he has this. He has this and he has all the times in college. 

And he has getting to scoop up a laughing Sarah while Steve collects Ian from his playpen so that they can all join in on the crazy living room dancing. Barefeet to and fros over an old, but carefree carpet, worn and happy to share in the joyful family moment. 

There’s something great and wonderful about it, too. Like the desire to run the New York Marathon the excitement to go to Disney world, this carefree bliss that’s -- a flower that bloomed out of a weed -- stems from the same place inside of him. Bucky’s pretty sure he’s figured out what it is he’s supposed to do around this glimpse thing. 

He still has _no_ idea how much longer Eli expects him to stay here. Which, okay, that thought a few weeks ago would’ve had Bucky spiraling into a state of absolute panic. But now it’s not such a bad thing. No, this isn’t the ideal set-up. Together he and Steve make a _fraction_ of what he was making back in his other life and they’re always cutting corners just so they _can_ do a few nice things here or there. But they do have a little house on Long Island and they’re able to do _some_ splurging -- like a fancy trip into the city for their anniversary -- and planning a trip like this every few years maybe, but Bucky’s been starting to think that’s the point of it all. 

The reason he’s here is to improve Steve and the kids’ lives. Bucky’s here to make to make it better somehow. He’s not sure yet how exactly he’s going to do that, but he’s sure that he can. Steve deserves better than this and Bucky’s been put here to get it for him. To get the love of his life and their two amazing kids a house twice this size with a backyard big enough to fit a playground. Bucky’s gonna get them in a place where taking trips to Disney World or _anywhere_ their hearts’ desire aren’t a _maybe_ but a sure thing. 

If they’re stuck in the burbs while Bucky figures out how to do that, then… well, okay, it’s not _quite_ the crisis scenario he once made it out to be. In fact, it’s not actually that bad at all. 

Not when shoveling snow comes with being able lob it at Clint while he’s passing by and then try to blame it on Sam as he goes the other way. Not when eating at _Cartinelli’s_ gets them free refills and desserts and the finest family dining around. Not when learning new ways to braid Sarah’s thick, curly hair comes with Natasha cracking up at him over Facetime while he struggles and ends up with his fingers tied in Sarah’s hair and yelling for Steve to stop laughing and _help_! 

Hell, Bucky’ll take it even if he’s gotta get out up in the middle of the night to check of monsters under the bed -- though he suspects that sometimes Sarah’s just looking for an extra bedtime story that she can swindle out of him -- or when bathtime means soapy water all over the floor and a last second run to the store because _someone_ forgot to pick up diapers for Ian. 

Because he’s pretty sure that Sarah might run for president one day and, while Ian doesn’t talk very much, the way he looks at the world -- so bright and curious -- Bucky can tell he’s learning all the time. 

And then there’s Steve. 

Bucky just cannot get enough of him. Whether laying in bed a few minutes longer or leaving work a few minutes early, Bucky’ll do anything he can just for a little more time with Steve. Just like in those home movies he watched, he can’t seem to keep his hands off of him. Bucky always wants to be touching him. An arm around his waist, a hand on his knee, fingers laced. Even when they’re just walking by each other in the hall or kitchen or bedroom, Bucky reaches out and lets their skin touch just so he can feel Steve close. 

No longer does Bucky wonder why he just looks at Steve. He looks at Steve so often because he _can_. Because he _wants_ to. Because he’s fallen in love -- or rather, _remembers_ just how much he’s _always_ loved him -- that he just wants to look at him. The sight of Steve makes him smile. Makes him want to kiss him, always. Even when Steve’s in the middle of saying something, Bucky will just lean in and plant a kiss upon his lips. 

A blush with feather across Steve’s cheeks like that’s the first time anyone’s ever kissed him and he’ll tuck a grin under his teeth. Clear his throat, too, before continuing. It never fails to leave Bucky floating. 

They laugh amid toddler toys and Barbie dolls cluttered on the living room floor. They dance off-beat to the happy music of bubbly boiling water and sizzling chicken cutlets. They tumble, exhausted and content, into helpful mismatched sheets and blankets to hold each other and drift to sleep, exchanging whispered endearments that slip from Bucky’s lips. Truer than any fact or logic of a sealed deal that Bucky’s ever made in his career. 

Bucky will find Steve in the kitchen doing nothing in particular at all. Maybe washing paint brushes, wearing a pair of sweats with paint in his hair and on his cheeks, and pull him into his arms. 

He’ll hold him close and breathe him in, just like he does now, as the song ends and Sarah is bright and bubbly once again and Ian is full of laughter, and Bucky whispers, “I can’t believe I get to do this every day.” 

And Steve smiles and hums and wraps his arms around Bucky’s neck and says, “Thank you for wanting, too.” 

Which is true. Bucky does want to do to it everyday. Which is why he’s got to fix things around her for Steve and the kids. Eleven years ago he left Steve in an airport with a promise. _I’m gonna give you the world, Steve_. He hasn’t delivered. In either of his lives -- one with heartbreak and one with a plain, ordinary life.

Bucky’s going to keep his promise now. 

He’s going to give Steve the world. 

Whatever sacrifices that takes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! and all your lovely comments :) 
> 
> feel free to find me on tumblr. A place for marvel and stucky and fun [thebestpersonherelovesbucky](http://www.thebestpersonherelovesbucky.tumblr.com/)


	9. When Opportunity Knocks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the late post and extra typos and errors. i've been super sick all week long, but still wanted to get the chapter up this weekend.

“Alright, what’m I gonna wear today?” Bucky glances over his shoulder when Ian, sitting in his exersaucer, laughs and claps his hands. “My thoughts exactly, buddy.” He reaches into the closet for a plaid button down and starts changing out of his pajama top. “How bout it, Ian? You wanna come to work with Papa? Sell some tires? It’s kinda fun. And I’m gettin’ _real_ good at it.” 

Stuffing his set of plastic keys in his mouth, Ian babbles and laughs again as Bucky continues getting ready. Before getting dressed, Bucky chuckles and can’t help himself. He goes over to Ian, crouches down, and takes a few minutes to play with him. 

They’re finally headed out the door, with just two minutes to spare -- Sarah is singing _Let it Go_ while she skips to the van -- when Steve stops him with a shout. 

“Bucky!” 

It’s a good thing Bucky salted the front steps last night since he skids to a halt. Any ice on out there might’ve had him slipping all over the place with Ian in his arms. 

“What, what?” Bucky asks. Alarmed. Looks around wondering if he’s missed something. “What’s wrong?”

But Steve only smiles and takes holds of the sides of Bucky’s face. Holds him still and plants an enthusiastic kiss. 

“Have a good day, babe.” He adds a slap to his ass and then, “Love you.” 

Laughing, Bucky manages to peck a kiss to Steve’s cheek before he goes back inside to finish getting ready himself. 

“Love you, too, baby doll!” he calls back. Smiles big and wide and full as he gets the kids into the minivan and drives to Big Joes for work. 

 

Big Joes is still done up for Valentine's Day. Big hearts and Cupid’s arrows painted on the windows and red streamers spiraling down from the ceiling. Valentine’s Day may have been almost three weeks ago already, but no one is itching to take them down. 

It’s not a particularly busy day, probably because it’s so cold out. Sales are going on as usual, but Bucky’s mind keeps wandering back home to Steve. They don’t have anything going on this weekend. Bucky has full intentions on taking advantage of that. He’s already got a bottle of cheap wine -- that they’ll probably have two glasses of -- and wood for the fireplace. Just so they can cuddle. Maybe Steve can paint in front of the fire. Bucky can’t wait. Even if the kids interrupt and end up down there with them, that’ll be just fine, too. 

“For the money,” Bucky says to the customer he’s with. Smiles with the hope of making the sale as he pats his hand over the stack of tires they’re by. “This is hands down the best radial we have.” 

The man only takes a few moments to think it over before nodding with a shrug. “Okay. I’ll take them.” 

“Great!” It feels good to make a sale and Bucky can’t hold back the grin. “You won’t regret it. Tommy!” Bucky calls to the callest floor employee. “Set up Mr. Oliver here with four B.F. Goodrich G-Force T/A’s.”

Tommy comes over right away and the customer happily thanks Bucky as they go off together to complete the sale. 

Proud of a job well done, Bucky straightens up and glances around for who he might be able to help next. The next bit of pride in the job he can find. Or he would, if he didn’t happen to catch a glimpse of the Audi R8 coupe rolling into the lot. It’s a deep orange color. Not a car that anyone would be driving around here, but a car Bucky recognizes anyway. 

Stunned, Bucky just stands there by the windows and watches as Tony Stark is greeted by one of the garage mechanics. This is… Bucky’s not sure what this is. Unbelievable is the only word that comes to mind. Tony Stark is here at Big Jones on Long Island.

It’s like the world is handing Bucky an opportunity on a silver platter. This is it. This can be Bucky’s chance to steer his life with Steve and the kids back on the right track. Give them all the things they deserve. He just needs to play this right. 

Taking in a deep breath, Bucky runs his fingers through poofy hair and pulls down on his shirt to rid it of any stubborn wrinkles before making his way out to the lots. 

“You gonna have a tire like that?” Tony’s asking. The tire of his car is all banged up. Rubber all torn to shreds. Looks like he’s had a pretty bad blow out. “Bit rare for around here.” 

He’s already reaching into his pocket, probably for his phone to call his driver, Happy, who was most likely attempting to following Tony from wherever it was that he was coming from. Tony’ll be picked up, have his car taken to a high-end mechanic -- possibly even work on it himself -- and Bucky’s shot will be over before it even began. 

“Why don’t you let me take this one, Kenny?” Bucky says when he approaches, giving Kenny a reassuring clap on the shoulder as he agrees and heads on his way. Turning to his former boss and one of the closest people he could’ve counted as a friend, Bucky says, “Tony Stark.”

Phone now in hand, Tony responds to his name being said with a quick turn and a glance at Bucky. It shouldn’t be _totally_ surprising. Stark Industries is a famous company in _and_ out of business circles. Tony is the face of the company. To be recognized out in the middle of nowhere Long Island though, at this run-of-the-mill tire store and garage of all places, is probably a little unexpected. 

“Do I know you?” Tony asks. Both politely and suspiciously, as though worried he might’ve forgotten someone he should be remembering or is about to have to keep his guard up. 

Bucky offers a friendly smile. It’s strange to have Tony look at him like this. To’ve worked for him for so many years and for not one spark of recognition flash at all. The last time Bucky saw him, Tony was pestering him to come to Christmas Eve dinner. Now, he’s a stranger. Bucky’s been to his home and Pepper worries about him and he goes out to dinner with Rhodey and Carol when they’re in town, but Tony has no idea who he is. 

“No, not exactly,” Bucky says. “I’ve seen you on CNBC.” Tony nods with a grin and goes back to his phone. “You look taller in person.” 

That grabs Tony’s attention enough that his arm lowers and he keeps his gaze focused on Bucky. He even smirks. 

“You the manager here?” he asks. 

Okay, this works. He’s got Tony’s interest. Enough, at least, that he wants to know that much. Bucky grins and nods and gestures towards the doors. 

“Why don’t we go inside?” he offers. “Warm up a bit?”

Taking one last glance at his phone, Tony shrugs and stuffs it back into the pocket of his down jacket. 

“After you then,” he replies.

Pulse picking up with anticipation, Bucky leads the way through the store to his back office. Tony glances around with real curiosity. Bucky wouldn’t be surprised if he left the store with a bag full of goodies he plans to tinker with later. 

In Bucky’s office, Bucky pulls out a seat for Tony -- Tony even makes a friendly comment on the pictures on the wall -- and Bucky sits across from him. This should be easy. It’s nothing he hasn’t done before. All Bucky needs to do is start. 

So he does. Bucky simple starts talking about the recent stock trends and business deals and interest rates. The different ways he’d’ve handled them. How he’d save Stark Industries money. What companies he’s sure he could get to do business with them. He holds Tony’s attention the whole time he talks. A small grin twitches the corners of his mouth. Every now and then his eyebrows lift ever so slightly as though intrigued by Bucky’s ideas. Or maybe even skill level in such matters. 

Then Bucky moves on to what was _his_ deal. The deal with Panther Inc. It’s a risky thing to bring up, what with how well it did turn out, but Bucky knows he could have done it better. With the contracts that were being drawn up when he was the architect of the deal, he would have brought it even _more_ money.

“The truth is, Banner was so busy counting his wife’s breathing that he didn’t realize Panther Inc. was already looking to open trade,” Bucky tells him. “Ten days, two weeks _tops,_ they would’ve approached _you_ with an offer, and I’m willing to bet anything it would’ve been a hundred and _thirty_ billion, not a hundred and twenty-two.” Bucky leans back in his chair. “Problem is, Mr. Stark, you had a cadet running the show. What you needed was a soldier.” 

Tony lets out a hearty laugh and gives his knee a slap. “Well, I’m impressed. Seriously. Impressed. So.” He grins at Bucky. “About my car.” 

Bucky shoulders start to drop. He’s a professional though and keeps them up. He’s had deals fall through before. This is no different. Well, maybe this is different seeing how he’d been hoping this was the bridge to a better life for Steve and the kids, but Bucky’ll just have to find some other way then. 

“Sure,” he murmurs. Turns to his computer and pulls up Tony’s records, newly entered into the systems. “Um, the part’s gonna have to be special ordered so it’ll take a couple of days.”

“Alrighty. Here’s a business card with my office address.” Tony’s already on his feet. On his phone, too. “Happy, my man! You’re outside, right? Great!” 

He’s already leaving. Without even a glance back at Bucky, the stranger who dazzled him with his knowledge of the business world, sure, but is still just a tire salesman from Long Island. Bucky sighs. He has no idea what the hell he was even thinking. 

“Hey, tireman!” Bucky flicks his gaze up to where Tony is standing by the closed door. “Why don’t… _you_ drop the car off. Come up to see me when you do.” 

The breath damn near leaps out of Bucky’s lungs. Trying to keep himself professional, Bucky holds back the thrilled smile and simple nods. Thanks Tony for his business and waits a few minutes before he shouts his joy to his obsolete office equipment. 

The leather of Tony’s seats creak as Bucky slides into it, greeting him like an old, long lost friend. Bucky sighs contently. Oh, how he’s missed that sound. The smell. The feel. The sweet, soft purr of the engine as he pulls onto the Long Island Expressway and heads to Manhattan four days after Tony’s visit to the store. 

He hasn’t told anyone about what he’s doing today. That he’s got a meeting to see Tony Stark that was personally set up by the man himself when Bucky called the office to tell them his car was ready. 

Bucky had gone home yesterday evening walking on air. Instead of finding Steve and pulling him in for his normal one armed-hug, Bucky found him in the dining room helping Sarah with homework and twirled him around in some sloppy to and fro dance. He kissed him good and long and until Steve dissolved into a giggle. 

“Hello there,” he said. All shimmers and sparkles. “Does this mean you had a good day?”

“Mm.” Bucky pecked Steve’s nose. “And you’re the cherry on top, baby doll.”

Even though Bucky was bursting with excitement, he managed to keep everything to himself. He has no idea how any of this is going to pan out. No need to get Steve excited just to be crushed with disappointment if it doesn’t go well. 

Keeping it to himself meant having to sneak his new suit out to work with him this morning, but he does look awfully sharp and snazzy, even if he will be surrounded by real labels and designers when he gets there. Steve’s anniversary gift is coming in quite handy and when Bucky pulls in front of Stark Industries, it’s with the same self-assured confidence he had pre-glimpse. He even tosses the keys to the parking attendant as though it’s an everyday occurrence. 

Everything is just as he remembers. His reflection on the floor. The crisp smell. The soft sounds of work getting done, even there in the lobby where he almost forgets that he needs to stop for a visitor’s pass. Once he gets it, Bucky slaps it on and hops onto the elevator. 

“Hello there,” he greets the receptionists. Same three he greeted the last time he came up here. “How are you this morning?”

The only one not taking a call -- though all three of them looked up and smiled a lot friendlier than he knows is expected of them when he approached which only adds to his confidence -- gives him her full, undivided attention. She might even blush a little when he smiles wider.

“I’m good, thank you,” she answers, cheerful and upbeat. “And how can I help you today?”

“I have a meeting with Mr. Stark.”

She nods and picks up the phone to reach Tony’s assistant. 

“Who should I say is here for him?” she asks. 

“James Barnes-Rogers.”

Bucky says his married name with a proud smile. He’s here today to do right by his husband. Fix what’s been missing all these years. He’s sure of it. 

The receptionist tells Bucky he can have a seat -- also offers him coffee and his choice of muffin from the platter on the front desk which he politely declines -- while he waits for Tony. The wait is actually only a few minutes. A good sign. Even when Tony isn’t busy, he’s never in any rush to meet with someone unless he’s excited about them. 

“Bucky the tireman!” he exclaims when he appears from the hall. “You made it!”

Not wanting to seem over-anxious, Bucky grins and rises slowly from the seat. He nods and shrugs casually. 

“Who would stand up the Iron Man of Wall Street?” 

Tony tosses his head back and laughs with his approach. “No one’s called me that in years.” 

Which is a lie since Rhodey called him that on Christmas Eve. Unless he didn’t in this world, which is always possible. 

“Sorry,” Bucky says. “I mean no offense.”

“None taken.” Tony claps a hand on his back and starts leading Bucky through the office. “As you can see, we’re more of a boutique operation.”

Bucky chuckles. “But you’re not interested in boutique dollars.”

The smile on Tony’s face is all Bucky needs as an answer. Not that Bucky really needed one from Tony anyway. He already knows. 

As they walk, Tony points out the different departments and offices that Bucky already knows and Bucky needs to remember not to greet people when they happen to pass by. 

When Bucky realizes that Tony is leading him to his old office he needs to take in a breath to better prepare himself for this one. It’s not Darcy and her cool witted, snarky set up sitting out there, but Bruce’s older, more traditional assitant. 

“He’s already expecting for you, Mr. Stark,” she says as the approach. 

Tony answers with a pair of finger guns and a click of his teeth, and then pushes the double doors of Bucky’s former office open. Bucky almost doesn’t want to look, but looking down, he knows, will make him appear nervous. He has no choice. 

“Bruce!” Tony announces his entrance like it’s a grand theatrical performance. “This is Bucky Barnes-Rogers. The one I was telling you about.” 

Bruce looks up from whatever he’s working on and grins behind thin-rimmed glasses. 

“Ah, right.” He’s already pushing away from his desk -- less ostentatious than the one Bucky had in here -- and coming over with his hand out. “Bucky, nice to meet you.”

Taking his hand, Bucky smiles at the man that used to be his subordinate and greets him as his superior. 

“Mr. Banner, likewise.” 

“Oh, no, please, Bruce is fine.” Bruce waves around his office. “We like to cultivate a very casual atmosphere around here.”

That was apparent the moment Bucky walked in. While there’s still a touch of finesse, there’s now a playpen where Bucky kept a collection of rare books and records. Toys scatter the area and there’s even a dog bed in the corner like maybe Bruce brings his dog in for a visit sometimes. Gone are Bucky’s Van Gogh and Monet. They’ve been replaced with Rockwell’s.

“I can see that,” Bucky replies.

Bruce smiles warmly. “Do you have kids?”

“I do actually.” Bucky returns that smile. “Two of them. Good ones. Really good ones.”

“Great, great.” Bruce claps his hands together and gestures to the small sitting area. “Why don’t you have a seat?”

Both he and Tony sit on the couch while Bucky takes the seat across from them. It’s strange, being on this side of the meeting, especially when he’s here having to impress Tony Stark _and_ Bruce Banner. Them in their designer suites, him in his knock off. Hand picked with love by Steve. That’s worth more than whatever’s theirs cost. Bucky’s already got his foot in the door, now he’s got to climb up the stairs. 

“So,” Bruce starts. “Tony tells me you’re an avid CNBC watcher, but he didn’t mention whether or not you had any actual Wall Street experience.” 

Okay, yes. He’s got this. Of course he does. He was James Barnes -- the Winter Solider of Wall Street. The one who swooped in as the youngest executive ever and made billions for Stark Industries. And now he’s Bucky Barnes-Rogers. He’s got Steve Rogers-Barnes and two amazing kids at home and he’s going to make their lives unbelieveable. 

“I was a sales associate at Morgan Stanley.” 

“Oh, a broker?” Bruce nods like he’s impressed. “And now you’re in the tire business.”

“That’s right. And auto-supply.”

“And that’s in the retail end.” Bruce looks at Tony for that confirmation, but Tony seems more interested in whatever Bucky has to say. “Is that right?”

“We get about sixty percent of our business from automotive service, yes,” Bucky says.

Bruce nods. “And, only if you mind me asking, what kind of sales did you do last year? Just a ballpark.”

No problem. Bucky’s come prepared and he knows this right off the top of his head. 

“We did one point seven in total revenue,” he tells them.

“One point seven.” Oh, no. There was a definite hesitation there and Tony’s giving Bruce a little smirk. “That’s great. And what do you project for this year?”

Confidence starting to slip, Bucky still keeps the same grin on his face anyway. He’s not gonna let them see his edge being chipped away at. 

“I think we’re gonna have any even better year,” he says. “Sales are up twenty percent in the first quarter alone _and_ we just landed a major trucking account.” 

“Oh, did you?” Bruce smiles again. “That’s great. Just terrific.” And now Bucky’s pretty sure he’s just patronizing him. “So, that puts you, what? Just a tad over two million?”

“That’s right. And that would make us number one in our market--excuse me, I’m gonna get some water.”

Bucky immediately gets out of the seat and makes his way for the water pitcher and glasses just across from them. On a marble counter filled with puzzles and toys. He doesn’t move fast enough to miss the exchanged glance between Tony and Bruce before he goes, but Bucky can’t help leaving for a second to gather his thoughts. 

What the hell is he doing here, bragging about the possible two million dollars the company he works for might make. Bucky himself was in the middle of bringing in one hundred and _thirty_ million _alone_ for Stark Industries. This isn’t going to work. Not like this. Bucky needs to switch gears. 

“Look,” he says after a glass of water helps to refresh his senses. “I know our paltry little, two million dollars in sales is about what you spend a year on office supplies. And some regional trucking company account is _nothing_ compared to a multi billion dollar merger…”

“Hey, no…” Bruce interrupts. “Bucky, I’m not knocking the trucking industry.” 

Bucky waves his hands out to stop him, taking no offense to any previous comments. 

“No, I get it, Bruce, I really do. If I were in your shoes, I’d be thinking exactly the same thing. What does this guy know, right? But here’s the deal.” Bucky pauses, if only to make sure Tony’s paying attention, and he most definitely is. “Business is business. From Wall Street to Main Street it’s all just a bunch of people getting up in the morning trying to figure out how the hell they’re gonna send their kids to college. It’s just _people_ , and I _know_ people.” 

Fixing his glasses, Bruce adjusts his position almost like he’s a little irritated by the jump in Bucky’s confidence. 

“Oh, I’m sure you do.” 

“Take you for instance.” Now, Bruce’s face drops, as though he never expected Bucky to be so bold. “You have a certain energy about you, it’s an active energy, but you hold back a bit. I wouldn’t be surprised if you drank about a dozen diet cokes already today.” From next to Bruce, Tony is laughing behind a fist. “You’re an excellent father, a loving husband, but you feel bad about the time you spend away from home. And your wife…” Bucky points around the room, “decorated this office.”

Tony lets loose of that laugh now, leaning forward and even slapping Bruce on the knee. 

“How bout that, Brucie?” He laughs. “Kid sure has your number.” 

While Bruce looks a tad uncomfortable, Bucky turns to Tony and just shrugs. 

“You’re a little tougher, Tony,” he says. “For one, you like expensive things.” 

Tony waves that off. “Please. You’ve seen my car. You knew I was Tony Stark. That’s easy.” 

Conceding that one with a nod of his head, Bucky tries again. “You like to build things. It’s why you ended the military contracts, so you could build something to protect the world, not destroy it.” Tony looks at him as though touched by his words. “You have two great loves of your life. This company. Not _just_ because your father built it, like most people think, but because your mother helped him and supported him while he did. And your wife. Which is why your wedding ring is tattooed on your finger.” 

As soon as he says that, Tony’s fingers skim over the tattoo in question. He looks down at it and smiles fondly. 

“Pepper’s sorry she couldn’t meet you,” he says. “She had business out in California.”

“Well, maybe I can next time.” Bucky takes in a deep breath. He’s just unloaded a lot on them. Taken a huge risk. A leap, even. Now it’s time to see if it was worth it. “And, Tony, you’re someone who prides himself in finding talent in unusual places.”

Tony tilts his head. “What makes you say that?”

“Because I wouldn’t be here if you didn’t.” He holds his palms out. “Look, I’m prepared to do whatever it takes to get this job. I’ll start wherever I have to start. I’ll park _cars_ if I have to.” Bucky lifts his chin. “The biggest part of judging character is knowing yourself and I know this: I can do this job, I _can_. I _know_ that. You just have to give me a chance. Give me a chance, Tony, I won’t let you down.”

For a few seconds, Tony watches him with that patent Stark grin of his before he lets go of another laugh and hops up. Once on his feet he drops both hands down on Bucky’s shoulders. _Almost_ the way he would have when they knew each other, but with less familiar affection. 

“Bruce,” Tony says while still looking at Bucky. “Why don’t you show Mr. Tireman around. I think he’s gonna need to know how to not get lost around these parts.” 

A smile pulls up on Bucky’s face. This is it. This is how it starts. All of his hopes and dreams for Steve and the kids are going to come true. He’s finally going to give them the life they deserve. 

“And this is what we call the war room,” Bruce is saying as he takes the time to show Bucky around. Bucky attempts to pay attention, but it’s hard when he knows all this already. “We did seven major deals in here last year.”

So, that didn’t change. Last year, Bucky was involved with all of those deals. Of course, in this life, he wasn’t, but he’s pretty sure the deals are the same without his involvement, even if the details have changed. 

“Is that right?” Bucky remarks. “Seven?”

“Yeah,” Bruce answers. “You, uh, you can almost feel a, uh…” He rubs at his eyes from under his glasses and sighs. “Okay, can we just, cut the shit for a minute?”

Whipping his gaze from the conference room back to Bruce, Bucky looks at him stunned and bewildered. 

“Excuse me?”

“What’d you do, huh? How’d you get all that information?” Bruce’s face is turning red. It’s _actually_ turning red. Bucky’s never even heard him raise his voice and now he’s watching his face turn a dark, crimson shade. There might even be a vein bulging from his forehead. “Did you pick his wallet? Find things on the internet?” 

“What?” Bucky shakes his head. “No, I--”

“Y’know what, it doesn’t even matter, cause your little show back there may have _wowed_ Tony, but it’s not gonna cut any shit with me,” he growls. “Lemme tell you something about Tony Stark. He gets excited very easily, but that doesn’t mean all his little _pet projects_ hold his attention for very long. I’ve got that big office because I proved myself _year_ after _year_ after _year_.” 

Bruce’s words come out through gritted teeth, his fists clenched so tight they shake. There isn’t much Bucky can do beyond listen. Not that he wants to do anything more. He’s actually quite interested in this. 

“Nobody is gonna come in here and get all chummy with him now, _especially_ not some tire salesman from Long Island.” Sucking in a deep breath, Bruce takes off his glasses and rubs the spot between his eyes. “Now, look, it’s not like I’m just gonna let you go and be penniless or anything, you’ve got a family and all,” he says. Calmer this time, but still with a slight, warning edge to it. “You just keep your head down, you do your work, and I’ll make sure you’re taken care of, do we have an understanding?”

The laugh just happens. Loud and erupting as it bursts from Bucky’s lungs like an strong and sudden wind. He just can’t help it. It’s just that Bruce was always so mild-mannered, so reserved, even to the point where maybe he _needed_ to push back but never did. Bucky never expected something like this from Bruce, even if he did pull back a little at the end, the kindness of his heart shining through no matter what. 

“Bruce!” Bucky laughs, arms thrown out like he means to embrace him. “You really _are_ different, aren’t you?” Instead of hugging him, cause this exchange is probably strange enough already, Bucky clasps his hands fondly over his shoulders. “I mean, it’s still _you_ , but _not_ you.”

Behind his glasses, Bruce blinks a few times. Thrown off and confused by the way this has gone, no doubt. His mouth forms a few words that never make it past his lips. 

“I… what?”

“Really, Bruce.” Bucky gives him a heartfelt smiles. “I’m so happy for you. I’m really impressed. Good for you.” 

When Bucky finally releases him from his semi-affectionate grasp, Bruce rubs at his arms and stares at him like he might try to hurt him now. Since Bucky does nothing but continue to smile at him, Bruce clears his throat, and straightens back up. 

“I… are we understanding each other?”

“Yes, Bruce,” Bucky agrees to the terms he’s laid out for him. “I understand completely.” 

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Right.” Bruce blinks at Bucky one last time before gesturing out of the room so they can continue the unnecessary tour. “This way.” 

“Great.” Bucky gives another laugh as they go. 

 

By the time Bucky’s on his way to Penn Station, it’s with a huge grin, an amazing sense of accomplishment, pride, and a job offer handed out from Tony himself. All Bucky needs to do now is sign the contract. A contract that will pave the way to a better life for all of them.

Sunlight dots the city blocks today, clear of any winter snow. It’s fitting, almost. Matches Bucky’s mood, the sheer amazement he feels as he walks with a slight skip to his steps. He almost can’t believe it. It feels like a dream, really. Surreal. But this is happening. Bucky’s going to do this for Steve and for Sarah and Ian. He’s going to give them the world. Just like he promised. 

***

“Are you ever gonna tell me where we’re goin’?” Steve asks as they walk down the picturesque blocks of the Upper West Side. 

Bucky chuckles. Swings their clasped hands back and forth and tugs him closer for a kiss. 

“Nope.” He smiles at Steve’s crinkled up nose, his playful irritation. “It’s a surprise. You know, you’re cute when you pretend to be mad at me.” 

Snorting, Steve pulls his hand out of Bucky’s only to loops their arms together a few seconds later anyway. 

It’s warmer tonight than it was when they came into the city for their anniversary. Still cold, but warmer. Tonight they might not be dressed up, but even in their normal broken in jeans and comfy sweatshirts it’s just as perfect. Maybe it’s the company. Bucky smiles at the thought.

The walk is nice, even the cold wind brushing against them like soft sheets of silk. Above them, the sky is a clear velvet blanket of black. The city lights shine bright and high, but a few stars manage to peek out. A bright twinkle waving down at the passing city below. 

It was a bit of a challenge getting Steve agree to another trip out to the city so soon after their last one -- especially without knowing the reason why -- but when Tony handed Bucky the keys to the brownstone for company use, he knew he just had to get Steve out here to see it right away. This one’s not an overnight trip. A late trip, but not overnight. Sam and Maria really didn’t mind -- not even after them double checking about a hundred times -- staying with the kids until they got home. 

When they reach the second to last building on the corner, and Bucky steers Steve for the entrance, he stiffens and pulls back like Bucky’s joking. Only this is no joke and Bucky’s barely able to contain himself. He wants to jump up and down and shout his excitement to Steve. 

“What’re--”

“This way,” Bucky says with a smile as he pulls out the keys to let them into the building. 

“ _Bucky_ ,” Steve whispers as they stand on top of the stone steps. He looks around. Eyes wandering up and down the block like he’s worried about getting caught doing something they’re not meant to be doing. “Are you crazy?”

Bucky just grins and kisses his nose. “Just for you. You trust me, right?” 

 

Steve gives him that grimace of his and crinkles his nose, and Bucky knows that look. Knows Steve is inches from giving in, so he hams it up a bit more. He makes his eyes wide and makes a tiny whimpering noise in the back of his throat. Steve cracks then. Shoulders falling along with all his resolve, he snorts and nods. 

“Yes! You’re the best, Stevie!” Bucky says as he puts the key in the lock and unlocks the door. “Don’t back out on me now.”

“I’m not!” Steve laughs. “When have I ever back out on something?”

“You paid that Sophomore to do your English paper in Freshman year when you were too hungover to--”

“Hey!” Steve exclaims with his hands on his hips. “Don’t you _dare_ bring that up! Totally doesn’t count! Besides, I _still_ maintain it was food poisoning.” 

“Mhm.” 

Chuckling, Bucky finally pushes the door open and steps waves Steve on in ahead of him. Steve gives him one last suspicious purse of the lips before stepping through the door. The gasp leaves his lungs before Bucky even closes the door behind him. 

 

It’s spectacular, really. Two floors of decadence all to themselves. Beautiful hardwood floors, red brick fireplaces, copper fixtures that bring out an old world charm. Four bedrooms, two offices, a dining room with a chandelier dripping with pristine crystals. The whole place is fully furnished and has amazing views from the upper level. 

Steve is already wandering around the place, exploring. One of the offices upstairs, Bucky knows, has so much natural light it can be the most amazing art studio for him. Steve can paint for hours in there it he wants. He can just get lost in creating whatever he wants. In the library they can designate an area just for the kids and, oh, the kid can have their own playroom with every toy they’ve ever wanted and…

“Okay,” Steve says as he emerges from the dining room where he’d been running his fingers over the glossy wood of the walnut table. “So, what’s this big surprise? You didn’t…” He shakes his head. “I mean, you didn’t rent this place for some weekend, did you?”

Hands in his pockets, Bucky tucks a grin under his teeth and rocks back on his heels. 

“Think _bigger_.” 

Taking another glance around the place, Steve’s eyes grow large and he quickly looks back at Bucky. 

“Not a _week_?” he guesses, both outraged and excited. Bucky can’t tell where one emotion ends and the other begins. “Bucky, you didn’t, right? You didn’t rent this place for a week?”

Bucky chuckles. His husband is seriously the most adorable thing in the world. 

“This place is a perk, Steve.”

“A… perk?” Those earlier emotions are beginning to fade, giving way to confusion. “A perk for what?”

“A company called Stark Industries uses it to attract new executives.” 

“Stark Industries?” Steve shakes his head. “As in Tony Stark?” Oh. Very good, Steve. Bucky nods. “Why would Stark Industries be offering you its perks?”

Sucking in a deep breath, Bucky holds his palms up in a shrug and gives Steve a big, excited smile. 

“I’m going into arbitrage, baby doll,” he says. “Turns out I have a knack for it.” 

Steve doesn’t react beyond a blink and another shake of his head. His eyebrows pull in and he doesn’t get further than opening his mouth before he closes it again shuts his eyes. 

“Bucky, what’re you talking about?”

So, Bucky tells him. About the fateful afternoon when Tony Stark rolled into the garage and then asked Bucky to bring his car back personally. That they offered him an interview and a job. All the while Steve just looks at him. 

“I’ll be making _twice_ what I’m making now. Plus, a hefty bonus and that’s just a _start_ ,” he explains, getting it all out with through a huge smile and having to pause between every few sentences to laugh. He gestures around the room they’re in. “And, we get to live _here_ practically rent free while we look for a place of our own.”

This is it. The moment Bucky’s been waiting for. For Steve to shout with the same excitement that’s been building inside of Bucky for the past two days. To hug him and maybe spin around in swirling circles of delight as all the missing parts of their dreams finally fall into place. Only instead of getting excited, of sharing in this moment of joy with Bucky, he’s just… staring at… nothing. Maybe… maybe he’s just too stunned to say anything yet. That’s okay. This is a lot to take it. 

“I don’t… under…” His voice rises out of his throat strangely, as if needing to fight its way out of a thick fog. “I’m confused. What’s happening here, Bucky? You’re just gonna… quit my dad’s store? Start working for… for some company you know nothing about?”

Shit, okay. Okay, so, maybe Bucky started this wrong. He probably should have tried for a single instead of a home run on his first swing. Alright, this is okay, he can slow things down and bring Steve to where he is rather than just expecting him to just snap into it like a rubberband. 

“No, no.” Bucky reaches for Steve’s hands and Steve places them there. Bringing Steve closer, Bucky cups the side of his face and smiles. “I know _plenty_ about Stark Industries, I’ve been following them and Wall Street for years. I mean…” He chuckles a little. “I _did_ get an MBA and all. I _was_ a broker. Ask me anything.” Bucky gives him a proud little smirk. “I bet I’ll know the answer.” 

The only thing Steve does is pull away and stare at him, mouth agape and eyes wandering over his face as though searching for the meaning behind all of this. There isn’t a speck of emotion beyond the shock that floats through his eyes, and Bucky really can’t tell if it’s good or bad. 

“Are you out of your mind?” Steve finally asks. 

That’s not quite the question Bucky had expected to be asked, but one he’s pretty sure he has the right answer to. 

“I… no, I don’t think so.” His next laugh is a nervous one, Steve’s reaction not even close to what he’d hoped. At least not yet. “This will be a better life for all of us.”

“But, Bucky, you’re talking about just _quitting_ your job!” Steve exclaims, voice quivering with disbelief. “Starting a brand new _career_! _Moving_ _back_ into the city!”

“Well, yeah, hear me out.” This isn’t going quite how he planned it. There doesn’t even seem to be a _hint_ of happiness from Steve. “We can put Sarah and Ian in private school--”

“Sarah goes to a great school!” he argues.” With great teachers and all her friends!”

Sighing, Bucky holds a hand out and lower his head a little. Steve just isn’t getting his point here. 

“Steve, I’m talking about some of the _best_ schools in the country, this is a great opportunity for them to get ahead.” 

Steve is starting to pace, a back and forth need to just do something while he sorts through all of this. Even his hands are shaking. Every move he makes, though, is like another twist of the knife that’s suddenly been shoved between Bucky’s ribs. There’s this pain. It hurts when his heart beats. And Bucky doesn’t understand it. 

“Bucky,” Steve murmurs when he passes by him again in the middle of his pacing. “What can you possibly be thinking?” He’s not even looking at him. “What about my job?”

“Well, I mean, this is New York City. You’re a pro-bono lawyer, c’mon, I’m sure you’ll find _plenty_ of clients _here_.”

The laugh that he tries to get past his lips this time is nothing more that a pathetic sound since it shrivels up and dies on the way out. 

“I… I just… I…” Steve goes on trying to make sense a few more times before he finally gets somewhere. “I can’t believe you’re talking about moving into the city. I thought the reason we left Brooklyn was because we didn’t want to raise the kids in the city at all.”

“No.” Bucky shakes his head. “No, New York City is the center of the world. Why wouldn’t we want to be in the center of the world?” 

“But…” Steve’s voice breaks this time. “All of our friends, Bucky. The kids’ friends. My dad. Our _lives_.”

“Okay, you know what?” Bucky rubs the spot between his eyes. “This was supposed to be a good thing. A happy thing, but I can see you’re really hung up on this whole moving thing, so okay!” He looks up again and circles his fingers in the air. “I don’t need all this. We can stay right where we are and, um, I’ll, uh, I can commute.”

As if he just can’t handle off of this anymore, Steve sinks down and needs to hold on the end of the couch for support. He buries his face into the fabric and moans a little. 

“Commute? Bucky, it’s ninety minutes _without_ traffic, even if you take the train.” He lifts his head back up and Bucky swears he looks panicked. “When… when’re you gonna see the kids? When are we gonna have any time together?”

Eyes falling closed, Bucky sighs and tents his hands over his nose and mouth. How can he explain this to Steve? Make him _see_ that this is a _good_ thing. A _great_ thing. This is something that they should be celebrating. Sure, it might take some adjustments and getting used to, but that’s true of all things in life. Hell, look at Bucky in this world, but he did it… didn’t he? Hasn’t he? He… has, right?

“Look, baby doll.” Bucky takes him by the shoulders and helps him back to his feet. “I’m talking about giving us the life that we used to dream about. The one we planned back in college. You, I mean, you said it yourself that life has thrown us surprises and we’ve made sacrifices because of them.”

Steve moves away from him and turns, leaning his arms across the mantel of the fireplace near them. 

“Yeah, but, Bucky--”

“No, Steve, I don’t think you’re really understanding what I’m saying.” He steps up to Steve and wraps him in the hug from behind he always loves so much. “I can get us back on track now. I want to do that.” No, more than that. “I _need_ to do this, Steve. I need to this as your husband and as a father. For _us_ , Steve.” This need has coiled around his bones like a vine of thorns, digging in deep and sticking right into the very marrow. “I _need_ to give you everything.” 

“But, Bucky, you al…” 

Steve starts to turn, but Bucky doesn’t let him. He just hugs him tighter and kisses the back of his neck and rests his brow against Steve’s hair. 

“Please,” he whispers. “Think about it for a second. No more clipping coupons. No more budgeting just because we splurged on something. No more shoveling snow. We can eat out like we did on our anniversary all the time. We can even spend some time in Paris, Steve!”

“Paris?!” Steve jerks away from him so forcefully that it takes Bucky by surprise. He even takes another step back. “ _Paris_?! Bucky, I don’t need you to take me to _Paris_! I don’t need to eat in fancy restaurants and live in the center of the world. And if you don’t wanna shovel snow anymore we’ll buy a goddamn snow blower!” 

Steve scrubs a hand over his face. Tears hug the corners of his eyes, sparkling in the light of this spectacular Manhattan brownstone. A place of the finest decor and great elegance, and yet it trembles around them with heartbreak and uncertainty. 

“Steve… I…” Bucky reaches for him, but Steve only looks at the fingers stretched towards him. “This… I thought you’d be happy.” 

“Not with you getting a new career without you even _discussing_ it with me first, Bucky,” Steve says. Wipes at his eyes and holds in much stronger emotions trying to escape. “Not with you taking Sarah out of a school that she loves and Ian away from familiar faces and _us_ out of the home that we’ve become a family in.”

There’s just something missing here. Something Bucky doesn’t understand and can’t figure out how to express properly. Why doesn’t Steve see what he does? That they can have the whole package now? Everything. Bucky can give them the perfect life. 

“Don’t you get it, Steve?” he tries. “I’m talking about having a life that other people actually _envy_.” 

A strange look falls upon Steve's face. It's a look Bucky's seen before. A mix of emotions. None of them mad and all of them pulling at even the finest strings of Bucky's heart.

He swoops in and gathers Bucky in his arms for a tight hug. Kisses the side of his neck and hugs him again. 

“Oh, babe,” Steve whispers, holding Bucky so close it’s like he never wants to let him go. “Not everyone wants a life like ours.” He’s quiet for a second. Sounds like he needs to keep his emotions in check before he pulls away to gently cup both hands to Bucky’s cheeks. Soft. Tender. And there’s just so much love and warmth in his eyes that it just melts Bucky’s insides. “But, Bucky,” he murmurs. “People already _do_ envy us.” 

***

The house is quiet. Not unusual for this time of night, but it’s overbearing. The drive home had been mostly silent, too. Bucky didn’t know what to say and Steve didn’t really say much of anything. Even Sam and Maria, who were surprised they were home earlier than expected, must have sensed the tension and left once they told them the kids had been no problem.

Now, the silence pounds through Bucky’s ears as he just sits there in the living room sorting through everything that went wrong tonight. Everything that’s gone wrong period. 

He’d been so sure -- so _certain_ \-- that Eli sent him here to improve upon the life already started here. Bucky thought he could do it. Thought Steve would welcome it with open arms and instead he rejected the very idea of it. 

Maybe the Bucky who didn’t get on the plane to Russia would understand all this. Maybe it would make sense if he could just get in his head. Figure out all the things that made him happy with the life he chose to have here with Steve. 

Bucky sighs and gets up from the couch. On the wall by the bookcase is a collage of framed photos that he sometimes looks at when he can’t sleep. Since the time he’s been here, Bucky has them all memorized, even if he can’t quite figure out where all of them are from. 

One of them, he thinks, is a wedding picture. They’re both in suits, standing on the steps of City Hall, lifting their intertwined fingers up and clearing showing the bands around their fingers. And it looks like the picture was taken as they were laughing. Even the frosty mist from their breaths of the cold day swirls around the two of them, but the happiness that radiates from the picture alone makes Bucky want to know more about it. 

He hasn’t gotten the story of their wedding, but from what he’s pieced together, he thinks they did end up eloping a just like Steve asked of him that early morning at the airport. From what he’s gathered -- after watching that home movie marked _Wedding Announcement_ \-- they didn’t even let anyone know until June. Even now Bucky chuckles to himself. That _is_ something they’d do. 

There’re pictures of Sarah as an infant with baby food all over her face and Ian with soapy bubbles covering his head. Both of them dressed up for Halloween and even one with them covered head to toe in Steve’s paint supplies. Steve’s mom shows up in quite a few. Some with the kids. Some with Steve. Some with Bucky. All their friends are there. And Steve and him. Of them hugging and smiling and dancing. Holidays and birthdays and just days of their life together. Memories that… that Bucky doesn’t have. 

The tear that hits Bucky’s hand startles him. He looks down at it and hastily wipes at his eyes. 

“What the hell?” More tears show up, even in his effort to make them stop. “What is _wrong_ with me?” 

This is completely ridiculous. How can he possibly be sentimental over something that never even happened? Unless maybe, just possibly, this moment is him stepping into someone else’s shoes. The Bucky who made this life. Bucky’ll never have those memories and yet, something inside of him wants them. A powerful, strange new yearning that desires a story to go along with every picture. An emotion to beat with all of them.

Bucky tears away from the wall, from the pictures, wondering how it’s even possible to miss something he never even had in the first place. He’s not sure what to do now. What to do next. He might start pacing if not for the book that catches his attention on the bookshelf. A memory he _does_ have. 

“Oh, my god,” he murmurs as he goes over.

Right there, on the shelf all this time, is a old cat’s cradle book he and Steve found at a used book store. They used it to store little keepsakes. Private jokes between them. Movie stubs and concert tickets that meant something. Photobooth pictures from Coney Island or doodled on napkins. All little things that they’d stick between the pages and go through on a bad day or if they had a fight. 

Wondering if any of that stuff survived, Bucky eases the book out and sits back down with it. He keeps it settled carefully on his lap and gently opens to the first page. Sure enough, a little note falls out. 

_Hey punk_ it reads _you’re sick! Don’t over do it or you get no loving from me for a week!!_

Bucky chuckles as he reads it. That’s from him to Steve. The punk never knew when to quit and take it easy. 

On the back, there’s a response from Steve. _Jerk. You’re completely unfair. (fine.)_

Still laughing at their past selves, Bucky tucks their little note back between the pages and looks for the next little keepsake. And then the next. And the next. Some he remembers clear as day, others are in his mind somewhere and still some he’s has no idea what they mean. His favorites are the photobooth pictures. The both of them making the goofiest faces. Bucky has no idea why he’s _still_ weepy and misty-eyed, but at least he can laugh when he sees them. 

Bucky’s almost at the last page. There really can’t be anything more. Only there is. One last thing. Something he almost mistakes as something else. Of course they’d keep this in here. The boarding pass to Russia. The one this Bucky didn’t use. Except… that’s not what it is.

“From Russia to New York?” 

Bucky must be reading it wrong. That doesn’t make sense. It must be because it’s faded. Time wearing away at the printing. But he reads it over a few times. Gets a good look at it. The dates. The times. The places. They’re not wrong. They’re two days _after_ the day he left. It hits him then. He _had_ left that night at the airport. Did leave Steve even with him pleading not to. With him crying and that heartbroken expression that hurts to think about. That’s not the difference here. It’s something else.

“I did go,” Bucky whispers. “But I… I came _back_ …”

Just like he _almost_ did. 

Bucky’d gotten to Russia and stood in the small dorm room that was to be his for the next year. He stared at his suitcases with a picture of him and Steve clenched in his hand. Bucky had cried for hours on the plane, missing Steve so much already, hearing Steve’s voice in his head -- _The plan doesn’t make us great, Bucky. What we have does. Us together in any life, that’s what makes us great._

Something had been happening in his chest whole flight. All the things he’d been sure of -- the plan, the internship, their future -- they didn’t really seem to matter anymore. Not if he didn’t have Steve by his side. _I choose us_ , Steve had said. _To the end of the line_.

“To the end of the line,” Bucky murmured to the picture he held.

He had taken in a deep breath and stuffed that picture into his back pocket and grabbed the bare essentials. His wallet. Passport. The carry on he still hadn’t unpacked. To hell with the rest of it. He was gonna leave. He was gonna choose Steve. To the end of the line.

He _almost_ went back. Bucky _almost_ raced back from Russia to Steve. He _almost_ made these decisions. 

But he bumped into the head of the internship who was coming to greet those lucky enough to get it. Who asked him if he was excited for such a golden opportunity. Who told him they hadn’t had such high hopes for someone in their program in a long time. Who clapped him on the back and requested the he join him and the rest of the incoming interns for a drink. 

The picture in his back pocket pulsed like a heartbeat -- steady, hard, strong. Bucky hesitated. Looked down at his passport as a few others gathered in the hall to go for that drink. 

And Bucky went with them. 

The boarding pass Bucky holds now weighs a ton. From Russia to JFK. The same date Bucky almost left. What did the other Bucky do that was different? Had he decided a minute sooner? A minute later? Was the timing all still the same and he was just… just _brave_ enough to choose Steve anyway. 

Something catches Bucky’s attention on the other side of the room and he looks up. Sees Steve coming into the living room. It looks like he’s about to say something but he pauses when he sees what Bucky’s holding. Instead of saying whatever it was he came in to say, he smiles softly, even sadly, and comes a little further into the room. 

“When you got on that plane…” Some old heartache tugs at his voice. “I was so sure it was over. I went back to my dorm and cried myself to sleep, certain I’d never see you again.” 

Tears touch his eyes. Bucky has to swallow the pain down, knowing that’s exactly what he did to Steve in his life. 

“But then,” Steve releases a tearful chuckle, “there you were, two days later. You were just _there_. All jetlagged, sitting in front of my door in that worn out henley and a hat covering your messy hair. And you gave me your wounded puppy look like you thought I’d never forgive you for leaving but I was just so... _relieved_ you were there that nothing else mattered.” He smiles and comes all the way over now. Sits down on the coffee table across from Bucky. “That was a good surprise.” 

Bucky feels like he should say something. He _wants_ to say something. No words form in his mind. None that are good enough. What made the Bucky that did that braver than him? Stronger? What inspired him to turn those drinks down and choose this life instead? What? What was it?

“I owe you an apology,” Steve says after just a second of silence anyway. 

That catches Bucky by such surprise he sits up straight and whatever it is that Steve’s trying to apologize for he wants to tell him right away that it’s okay. It doesn’t matter. He hasn’t done anything, as far as Bucky’s concerned anyway. 

“No,” Bucky says. “Steve, I… what?”

Steve offers that same smile he did when he first came into the room with him. He even puts a hand on his knee, his thumb gently rubbing circles.

“You just… took me by surprise. Before, I mean. With all that…” He looks down and sighs. “I wasn’t expecting it. But I… I should’ve been paying closer attention around here and I’m sorry for that.”

“I don’t understand,” Bucky says and places a hand over Steve’s. “What’re you talking about?” 

“I just didn’t realize…” Steve’s eyes sweep back up to meet Bucky’s. They glisten with heartfelt tears as he nibbles on his lip. “I thought everything was okay, I really did.”

“Steve--” 

“When I think about the decision you made,” Steve interrupts. “That sacrifice…” His face scrunches a bit, those tears in his eyes remaining unshed for now. “Maybe I was being naive, but I really thought we’d grow old in this house.

Those tears might still be held back, but they’re in his voice, and it takes every ounce of willpower Bucky has not to reach out and pull him into his arms.

“I had this image, y’know? Of us old and gray and wrinkled. Of me… painting in the living room and you… reading on the couch. And the kids visiting us and maybe even grandkids.” The first tear rolls out of his eye and it’s Bucky that reaches out and wipes it away. Steve doesn’t let him take his hand back. “I thought this would always be our home.”

Bucky leans forward. Opens his mouth but no words come out even though he’s desperate to comfort Steve. To fix this. But he doesn’t know how. He did this. He’s hurt him, _again_ , and he doesn’t know how to make it better this time. Every tiny sniffle Steve takes in is another razor sharp cut to his aching heart. 

“No, listen,” Steve says when Bucky tries to say something again. “I was wrong. My home is wherever _you_ are. _You’re_ my home, Bucky.” His voice cracks, just slightly, but he’s holding both of Bucky’s hands now. “You’ve been my home for the past twelve years. And if you need this, Bucky, if you really need this, then I will pack up everything and I will take our children, and we will follow you to wherever you need to be. Because that’s where I need to be too. Because I love you.” Steve reaches for Bucky’s cheek now. Cups it gently and Bucky can’t help but lean into the touch. “Because I choose _us_. Because I’m with you--”

“To the end of the line.”

And that’s it. Just like that, Bucky really understands everything. That’s what made the other Bucky so strong here. So happy and content even without the fancy cars and the big house and the trips. Even having to cut corners and clip coupons and work in retail earning nothing compared to what Bucky made in his life. It was Steve. Steve and him together. That’s all he ever really needed. All he ever really wanted. 

And suddenly, the thought of ever going back to his old life leaves a deep, hollow hole right in the middle of his chest. 

Wet eyes and all, Steve smiles at Bucky for completing their line for him. He nods. Wipes the moisture away from his face and begins to stand. Before he can go anywhere, Bucky takes hold of his wrist and gently tugs him over to the couch with him. 

“C’mere,” he murmurs. He tries to think of something to say. Something meaningful and heartfelt, but all his brain supplies him with is, “I love you so much, Steve.” And then he’s abruptly crying, the tears he’d done such a good job at holding back getting the better of him now. “I don’t wanna leave, Steve,” he cries. “I wanna stay here. I wanna stay here with you. I wanna stay here with you and the kids. I don’t wanna go.”

“But I thought…” Steve studies his face for a quick second and then pulls him into his arms. “Hey. Hey, baby, it’s okay. We don’t have to go anywhere if you don’t want to.”

Burying his face between Steve’s shoulder and neck, Bucky shakes his head and pulls himself closer.

“I wanna stay,” he murmurs. “And makes memories with you. Okay? Lots of memories.” 

Steve pulls away now, and though Bucky almost doesn’t want to let him, he does. He’s crying along with him and presses their brows together. 

“Okay, babe,” he whispers.

They’re both crying now. Both holding onto each other and kissing and petting and nuzzling, and when they look back into each other’s eyes they both begin to laugh through their tears. 

“I think everyone’s right,” Steve says as he wipes at his face. “We _are_ ridiculous.”

“I don’t care,” Bucky replies, running his arm across his eyes. “As long as we’re ridiculous together.” 

A teary-eyed smile touches Steve’s lips as he settles himself more comfortably on the couch next to Bucky. Rests his head on his shoulder and wraps an arm over his chest. While he does that, Bucky starts to fish his phone out of his pocket. 

“What’re you doing?” Steve asks. 

“Told you,” Bucky says as he opens the camera and holds the phone up. “Making memories.”

They’ve taken pictures, sure, but that was on Christmas and New Year’s and activities that Bucky was a jackass for and his smile is fake and it’s all wrong. He wants this one. Needs it. 

“What?” Steve shakes his head. “No! I’m a mess!”

“Don’t care,” Bucky chuckles. “Me too. Besides… look at me, baby doll…” Steve does and Bucky smiles. “A mess? How can a beauty like you ever be a mess?”

The second the words roll off his tongue, Steve is lighting up. Blushing. And just before he can hide his face in Bucky’s shoulder, Bucky is pressing the button on the camera and hoping for the best. And that hope, this time, pays off. 

Bucky grins and shows the picture to Steve. A great shot of the two of them. Faces tear-streaked. Eyes red and puffy. And yet they’re beaming at one another. Even Steve can’t complain as he makes himself cozy in Bucky’s arms and Bucky saves the first memory of his new life. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! and all your lovely comments :) 
> 
> feel free to find me on tumblr. A place for marvel and stucky and fun [thebestpersonherelovesbucky](http://www.thebestpersonherelovesbucky.tumblr.com/)


	10. Be Happy That it Happened

Bucky wakes before Steve in the morning. Before the kids. Even before Cap gets the chance to stick her wet nose in his face and start licking away. He’s not sure when waking with Steve beside him -- the warm, sturdy presence that sometimes has an arm tossed right over Bucky -- became so normal, something right, but it is now. Something Bucky’s actually come to count on. 

Sitting up slowly so as not to disturb him, Bucky grins and just watches his husband for a little bit. Watches the easy rise and fall of his chest. The soft flutter of his eyes that makes Bucky wonder what he’s dreaming about. The way the soft sunlight kisses his golden hair. 

He pets a hand over his head. Gentle. Steve sucks in a deep breath and snuggles deeper into the blankets and pillows. There’s even a cute, little smile on his face, and Bucky snickers. He just can’t help himself either. Bucky leans in and feathers a kiss to Steve’s cheek.

“I love you,” he whispers, still leaned in. “So much.”

Just before Bucky sits back up, the door opens and Sarah creeps into the room. She’s wearing a Supergirl nightgown and fuzzy socks and her hair is messy. This is early for a Saturday so she’s yawning and rubbing the back of her hand into her eyes. 

“Morning, sweetheart.” Bucky holds his finger to his lips. “Sh. Daddy’s still sleeping.” 

Nodding, Sarah waits by the door as Bucky slips out of bed and pulls a pair of pants and a sweatshirt on. He jerks his head towards the door and Sarah heads back into the hall to wait for him. 

“You’re up early,” he comments with a ruffle to her already tangled hair. “You know what I say about morning people.” 

Sarah glances up at him with something of a dazzled look in her eyes. Two little stars that border on excited and hopeful. 

“Morning peoples are brights on society,” she says. 

They’re just at the stairs when she answers and Bucky chuckles. Before they go down, he crouches in front of her. 

“Wanna piggyback ride?”

Those little eyes of hers light up again and a huge smile grows on her face. She’s nodding and climbing on before she even really answers. With Sarah safely on his back, all smiles and giggles, Bucky skips downstairs and into the kitchen. Cap lifts her head from her bed in the corner, but yawns and rolls back over. Seems it’s even too early for her.

“Okay, mademoiselle.” Bucky puts her back down on her feet and then starts talking with the best French accent he can conjure. “It is with greatest pride and deepest pleasure.” He’s watched Beauty and the Beast with her enough times now that he can recite most of this properly, even with making some adjustments to fit their situation. “That we welcome you this morning…”

That big smile still hasn’t left Sarah’s face and, just like her Daddy, she’s got her hands covering it as her laugh gets louder. Her cheeks are bright red when Bucky grabs the nearest dish towel and holds it over his forearm like a waiter. 

“And now,” Bucky goes on, “we invite you to relax. Let us pull up a chair. As the kitchen proudly presents…” They both look at the table where there’s no food prepared. “Your… breakfast.” 

“Papa,” she sighs with a playful shake of her head. “There _is_ no breakfast.” 

“Hm.” He runs his hand under his chin. “You’re right. Then, what should we do about that?”

Imitating his position, Sarah also rubs her chin, dramatically twisting her lips as she thinks of a way out of this predicament. 

“ _Well_ ,” she singsongs. “How about… your pancakes!”

“ _My_ pancakes?” Bucky laughs. “I thought we only had my pancakes on special occasions.” 

Sarah taps her chin now and gives him a cheeky grin. “Maybe today _is_ a _pecial_ occasion.” 

That response makes him laugh so hard that Bucky just reaches out and starts tickling her sides. Pulls her in while she’s shrieks with laughter and plants kisses all over her cheek. 

“Is that so, you little con artist?” He jostles her a bit and gives her a tight hug. “Alright, alright. _My_ pancakes it is. But _you_ gotta be my sous-chef.” 

“What’s a shoe-chef?”

“A _sous-_ chef,” Bucky explains as he gets the mini-apron from the closet and helps Sarah get it on. “Is the second in command behind the chef in the kitchen.” 

Once Sarah agrees to that, happy and wholeheartedly, Bucky pulls a chair over to the counter and lifts Sarah onto it. He’s still not clear on what _his_ pancakes are, but he figures if he whips up a batch of pancakes like his mom used to make then that might be passable.

With Sarah helping out, that comes with getting flour all over the counter and hands and faces. Purposely on noses and in each others hair. She has to warn him when Bucky just _can’t_ figure out the difference between the salt and sugar, which would be quite tragic to put the wrong amounts of each in. Standing behind her, Bucky gets both their hands on a wooden spoon and the mix the first part of it all up. 

“We gotta wash our hands, kiddo,” he says after it’s all mixed. “Next part’s messy.” 

Sarah laughs and says it’s all gooey when they stick their hands in to make a well in the center. 

Milk, eggs, and melted butter comes next, and Bucky lets Sarah think that she cracked the eggs into their well. Again, Bucky stands behind her while they mix until it’s all smooth and Sarah all excited that she’s helped to make Papa’s pancakes. Bucky does sneak in the final ingredient on his own. A teaspoon of lemon juice. He’ll tell her about that one when she’s older. 

“Can we cook ‘em now, Papa?” she asks after everything is all ready. “Can we, can we?”

“Well.” Bucky lifts her off the chair and sets her back on the floor. “What if we wait until everyone is awake, hm? This way we can all eat together?”

A pout turns her lip down, but Sarah reluctantly agrees to that with a sigh and asks what they’re gonna do until then. Bucky takes a glance at the clock. It’s only about twenty minutes until they normally get up on a weekday and even though they tend to sleep a little later on the weekends -- Cap adapting to even that schedule -- he figures it’ll be okay to change that a little. 

Bucky, playful smirk on his face, holds his hand out for her. She takes it eagerly and lets him guide her back into the living room where he tells her to wait while he runs back upstairs for just a second so he can run back upstairs. 

There, he grabs some clothes for Sarah and takes them back down for her to change into -- her nightgown not gonna cut it. 

“What’re we doing?” she asks when he helps her change. 

All Bucky does is lift his eyebrows once and then goes to get their jackets and other winter things. 

“We’re going outside?!” Sarah exclaims like she just can’t believe it. “To play?” Bucky nods, and Sarah looks at him like the excitement is too good to be true. “But it’s so early!”

Bucky pulls her hat down over her eyes. He whistles for Cap and can hear her tags jingling and her paws clacking on the tiled kitchen floor as she slides trying to get up as fast as she can. The dog comes hurrying in, tongue hanging out of her mouth and already prancing around Bucky’s feet even though Bucky hasn’t reached for the leash. 

“You comin’, kiddo?” he asks when he opens the door and lets Cap out first, who dives face first into the pile of snow at the corner of the walkway. 

She lights up again and darts over to him, grabbing Bucky by the hand to pull him out there with here. 

As soon as they’re out there, Cap comes dashing back over to them and then bounds onto the lawn, snow flying out from under her paws. Bucky waves Sarah to come with him and they begin chasing the dog around the front yard. Cap dodges them every time they get close and Sarah picks up snow to lob at Bucky. 

Laughing, Bucky turns on his heels and goes after her, Cap joining in on his efforts. Of course, she squeals with laughter as he chases her, catching her and spinning her around with the dog jumping and barking happily at them. 

All the while Bucky’s smiling. Laughing. His breaths coming out in quick bursts of frost as he plays outside in the snow with Sarah on this cold, winter’s morning. Until his sides are sore and even he’s getting a little too cold. Sarah might not admit it, but Bucky knows it’s probably best to start heading inside. 

“Oh, no!” he pretends to shout as Sarah runs after him and he makes a fake attempt to get away. “What’m I gonna do?”

“I’m gonna get you!” she laughs, reaching out and just skimming the bottom of Bucky’s jacket. “Come back here!”

“No! No, no!”

Bucky lets her catch up to him then and he fall to the ground, letting Sarah tackle him and rolling them both over in the snow. 

“No!” Bucky huffs, and then laughs and tries to push Cap away when she starts licking his face. “Oh, no. You knocked me down! How’d you do that?”

“I just did it!” she laughs. Holds her arms like she’s making big muscles. “The Amazing Sarah!”

“You did.” Bucky heaves in a breath, the cold air making his tired lungs burn. “You _are_ the Amazing Sarah.” 

Before he can even suggest going inside, he hears a knocking coming from the window. He tilts his head back to see Steve standing behind the door, big smile on his face. He’s got Ian in his arms and once he knows Bucky’s looking, he waves. 

“Look.” Bucky points to the door. “Daddy’s up. I think it’s time to go inside. We can make those pancakes now.”

Regardless of having to go back inside, Sarah hops up excitedly and starts tugging on Bucky’s arm to pull him up faster. He laughs and lets her think she gets him up to his feet to drag him back inside. 

“You got a pink bunny nose,” he tells her when he’s hanging up their jackets. He crouches down and rubs his with hers. “Let’s get you all warmed up, okay?”

Steve is with Ian already in the kitchen singing the Wheels on the Bus as he gets a bottle ready. Bucky even sees him dancing in circles as he goes back and forth doing things. Even with Ian still in his arms, he’s circling around in there.

“There you are!” Steve laughs as Bucky comes into the kitchen with Sarah. He looks at the counter where the bowl of batter is waiting to be used. “Are we having pancakes today?” 

“Mhm.” Bucky nudges Sarah a little. “ _This_ one over here thinks today is a special occasion. And conned me into making my pancakes.”

Sarah grins up at him, again with that dazzled look in her eyes. Even brighter this time. Like two shooting stars swooping across the sky. 

“It _is_ a _pecial_ occasion!” she insists.

Still smiling at him with that same big grin, Sarah holds her arms out to him. Bucky scoops her up into his arms where she immediately wraps herself around him. Hugs him like she’s never done before. Tight. Affectionate. Even snuggles against his shoulder for a few moments. The way she place herself, so warm and comfortable, has Bucky smiling and chuckling, unsure what he’s done to deserve such a hug. 

“What was that for?” he asks when she leans back up.

She looks at him warmly. Says, just above a whisper, “I _knew_ you’d be back, Papa.” 

A breath catches in Bucky’s throat, the corners of his mouth dropping just slightly. Eyes softly falling shut, all he can really do is hold her close again. Hold her tight and kiss the side of her head and revel in the warmth she fills him with. 

“I love you, Sarah,” he murmurs. Looks up without undoing their umbrace to see Steve attempting to get the frying pan out one-handed with Ian at his hip. “And I love you, Ian,” he says when he takes him from Steve, kissing the top of his head. “And you, baby doll.” 

Steve, clearing missing the sentiment while trying to get the frying pan out for him, turns. 

“What?”

Bucky laughs. 

“Nothing. Just sayin’ that I love you. All of you.” Both kids in his arms, he snuggles them and steps up to Steve for a kiss. “Nothing else in the world I need.” 

Turns out, Bucky _can_ make Papa’s pancakes, since they’ve probably just been his mom’s recipe this whole time. If they haven’t been, his mom’s recipe is as good as those pancakes because as soon as Steve takes a bite he groans with a smile and dramatically rolls his eyes and pleads with Bucky to just, “ _Please_ , tell me how you do this, it’s not _fair_ you keepin’ this secret from me!”

Bucky shrugs as he tosses one last pancake up to flip it for himself, amazed and thrilled that he can still do that neat little trick, and tells Steve he needs to take that up with his new sous-chef. Glancing down at Sarah, Steve gets a big, cheesy smile from her while he goes on to whine and sulk to her about how unfair this is since _he_ does most of the cooking anyway. 

As Bucky goes on finishing up the last batch for himself, Steve helps Ian with his silver dollar pancakes and tells Sarah to take it easy on the syrup and Bucky’s body warms with the happy sounds of his family. 

“Y’know,” he says, sitting down with his stack of pancakes, “instead of grumbling about not matching up to my _brilliant_ culinary skills--”

“ _Please_ ,” Steve scoffs.

“--maybe we can decide what we want to do today.” 

That sees Steve perking up, excited about getting into such a discussion. They toss a few ideas back and forth. Sledding, maybe. Ice-skating sounds fun, even with an eighteen-month-old. Clint and Laura took the kids away for the weekend, so a playdate is out. They think about just taking it easy and plopping down on the couch in front of the television, eating nothing but junk food all the long. 

“Hey, what about the library?” Bucky suggests. “I think there’s some stuff going on today that might be fun.”

He remembers Steve’s saying something about there being a reading of several winter tales for the older kids like Sarah and sing-a-longs for Ian.

“I wanna go to the library!” Sarah exclaims with her mouth full, bits of food flying out. “Can we, Daddy?”

“Can we?” he laughs. “ _Can_ we? After you were so _mean_ to me?” Steve pretends to weep, throwing his face in his hands dramatically. “Keeping secrets from me.”

Sarah points a finger right a Bucky, eyes wide and accusing as she shakes her head. 

“Papa said not to! It was Papa!”

“Oh!” Bucky grabs at his heart. “My own daughter! Throwing me right under the bus!”

Laughing, Steve joins Sarah in pointing at Bucky and declares that she needs to prove her loyalty if she wants to do anything today. Sarah shoots out of her seat, sticky fingers and all, and leaps at Bucky. He’s able to catch her without any difficulty, but lets her think she’s knocked him to the floor. As soon as they’re there, Cap comes bounding over, barking and wagging her tail as Sarah climbs on top of him just like outside. 

“No!” Bucky shouts. “It’s Amazing Sarah! She got me again!” 

Little hands press his cheeks together and while Sarah goes on to say that Bucky is a supervillain that needs to be stopped at all costs -- _costests_ , in her words -- Ian comes waddling over to join the fun, getting only halfway before plopping down and crawling the rest of the way with a happy shriek and a big smile. He gets to Bucky’s side and laughs when Bucky wraps an arm around him to pull him in closer. Ian slaps his hands down on Bucky’s chest over and over again while Sarah squeezes his cheeks and demand that he give up. 

“Never!” Bucky cries out. “I have back up! Steve! _Help_!” 

“Oh, I’ll help alright,” Steve says. Crouches down and digs his fingers into Bucky’s ribs. 

Bucky squeals with laughter. “No! Oh, Steve, no!” 

“Give it up, supervillain!” Sarah demands. “You’re outnumbered!”

“Okay!” Bucky answers, throwing his hands up in surrender while trying to catch his breath. “I give up. You win. You win.”

Proud grin on her face, Sarah stays seated on Bucky’s belly and gazes at Steve to ask if they can go to the library now. He laughs, picking her up and assuring her that, yes, yes they can go to the library. After he sets her down, he gives her butt a little swat and tells her to get washed up.

Since Bucky did the cooking, Steve offers to clean up. Which means Bucky gets to get Ian ready. He gets to his feet and lifts him up with him. 

“You and me, buddy, huh?” he says. Nuzzles kisses into his chubby cheek and gets him giggling. “Are you gonna hang out with Papa today?” Bucky gives him a gentle toss and kisses him again. “Papa and Ian day? How’s that sound?”

Two hours later, Steve is getting Sarah’s jacket on while Bucky gets Ian all bundled up. The library turns out to be a really great idea. Sing-a-longs don’t start until a half an hour after Sarah’s activity starts, so while Steve goes with her, Bucky and Ian plays with blocks and dinosaurs and other toys in the play area until it’s their turn. 

There are parents headed there a little early so Bucky figures he can go as well. Some of them he knows from the neighborhood and is content to just sit with, chatting about their kids and the schools and sports teams. 

Everyone is there before the music director comes in to get the activity started. When the door opens one last time, there’s a bell ringing and a tambourine jingling and maracas shaking while the poor woman carries that all _and_ her guitar. Poor woman had her bag rip open on her way in. 

Several people jump up to offer their help -- Bucky included -- and she thanks them and apologizes for being late. In just few minutes, she’s all set up and ready to get everything started. 

They sit through classic songs and new songs, the woman leading the group happily playing her guitar and leading them through tune and tune. Parents have their kids in their laps while they clap along and sing what they know. Count fingers and toes. Point out shapes and colors. Sing the ABCs. 

Bucky even gets to make a handprint with him. It’s a chore trying to get the paint on Ian’s hand since he keeps trying to stick it in his mouth, but after a bit of laughing and effort, Bucky manages. And it’s completely worth it, too, just to be able to look at the end result. Their handprints side by side. Ian’s in blue, Bucky’s in green, the date in the corner of the paper. Bucky can’t stop smiling at it. 

“We should frame it,” Steve suggests as they head to _Cartinelli’s_ for lunch. “Put it up in the living room.” 

On the wall by the fireplace, yes. The idea leaves Bucky all giddy inside, a piece of art made by the both of them. Now he’s gotta do one with Sarah, too. Maybe they can even make one with _all_ of their hands. A family of hands. Steve and Bucky on the outside and the two kids on the inside. 

Bucky laughs at himself. Not that long ago he’d be scoffing and rolling his eyes at such an idea. Now he’s the one coming up with them. 

No matter. It makes him happy. And Steve happy and the kids happy. Bucky’s happy. That’s all he really cares about. 

“Cake for lunch?!” Sarah exclaims when they sit down at the diner. “Really, Papa?”

“Uh… yeah…” Steve questions. “Really, Papa?”

Chuckling, Bucky flips the menu around and shrugs. Gives Sarah’s cheek a pinch and blows a kiss to Steve. 

“Why not? We had _pan_ cakes for breakfast, right? Why not some _cake_ for lunch?”

Steve reminds him that he _is_ supposed to be training for a marathon and slowly changing his dietary habits. Huffing, Bucky _supposes_ that’s a good point, but there’s _always_ room for a little cheating, right? Which Steve agrees to, but only if Bucky allows him to tell Natasha tomorrow that he cheated with _cake_ for lunch. Bucky whines, but agrees. 

The only one _not_ getting a dessert for lunch is Ian -- both Bucky and Steve agree it’s best to get him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich instead. But since they know the diner so well, they don’t even really need to go through the dessert menu or even look at the counter. 

Bucky already knows that he’s gonna get a slice of the triple chocolate cake that Steve ate on him -- _you gotta let that go, babe_ , Steve says -- and Steve, of course, gets his favorite slice of apple cake with a scoop of vanilla ice cream over it. Sarah gets her brownie with melted peanut butter drizzled over it. And since they can’t stand the idea of Ian being left out of their dessert fest, they order him a cookie along with his sandwich. 

“You spoil him, y’know,” Steve accuses after they place their orders. “He’s never gonna know who the boss is.” 

“Wha- _me_?” Bucky huffs. “You ordered the cookie, too!” 

That teasing twinkle in Steve’s eyes only gets brighter the more indignant Bucky gets. Playing along. Bucky reaches across the table and lets their fingers lace. 

One of the waitresses brings over some extra crayons for the kids to use, and yet it’s Steve who ends up using most of them. Doodling on the back of their placemats. Even with junkie store brand crayons, the guy can create something beautiful. All he does is draw a meadow with a rainbow over it but it’s spectacular. 

Okay, maybe Bucky’s a little bit biased, but it does make Sarah lights up with a smile and make up a story about a flying horse and butterfly who become best friends. Bucky records her saying the whole thing and thinks it might be a fun idea to make it into a book and have Steve draw pictures for it and give it to her for her birthday. 

Someone rings the bell up on the front counter just as Bucky looks up to see the waiter coming over with their order. Funny, he’s never seen this waiter before. He’s not the same who took their order but he’s friendly and polite as he puts their buffet of desserts down on the table.

Not one of them -- not even Sarah -- is able to finish. They share back and forth and Ian squishes a quarter piece of his sandwich into the highchair chair -- there’s jelly smeared all over his face anyway -- and Sarah asks if they can do this _every_ Saturday. 

“‘Fraid not, kiddo,” Steve says as he wipes Ian’s face clean. “I think Papa’s just in a silly and fun mood today.”

“Hey, I take offense to that,” Bucky replies, helping Sarah back into her jacket. “I think I’m _always_ fun.”

Finished with cleaning off Ian, Steve snorts and hands him over to Bucky to get him in his coat while he goes to pay their bill. 

At home, the kids are a… _tad_ more energetic than usual, and Bucky cringes under the scrutiny of Steve’s stink eye. Laughing and shrugging and pleading his innocence. But even with Sarah running through the living room and Ian’s legs flailing this way and that, Steve still laughs. Tugs Bucky over to play along with them. 

Until the sugar rush wears and both Sarah and Ian are passed out on the floor of the living room, and Bucky collapses with Steve on the couch. Their heads touch as they lean against each other and Bucky twines their arms, lacing their fingers to make them one. 

“Good day so far?” he murmurs. 

Steve hums and nuzzles closer. “So far, so good.” 

Dinner, they decide on a pizza. Nice and easy to keep up with the nice and easy day. And, as Bucky so brilliantly decides, fits with their theme. 

“What theme?” Steve asks. 

“Pan _cakes_ , cakes, pizza _pies_ …” Bucky gives him a cheesy smile and wiggle of his eyebrows. “Ey? Get it?”

“You are the worst.”

The bell rings just thirty minutes after they put their order in and once dinner is finished, after a little while of playing, it’s time to get the kids ready for bed. 

Bucky really can’t believe how quickly the day went, even with him getting up even earlier than usual. The days that used to drag on and on, days he hated being stuck in, are now passing in the blink of an eye. 

Baths are done and Sarah’s already in her comfy PJs, Bucky’s with Steve in Ian’s room getting him ready when his phone rings with a message. It’s a weather warning. Icy conditions tonight. Pretty bad it looks like. Last thing they need is someone getting hurt out in front of their house. 

“Hey, it looks like we’re gonna get a bad freeze tonight,” Bucky says as Steve finishes with Ian’s diaper. “I’m gonna go salt the sidewalk.” 

“You sure?” Steve asks. Picks Ian up and gives him a few pats on the back to keep him from squirming around. “They’re gonna be in bed in a half an hour. I’ll come out and help you if you wanna wait.” 

Bucky waves a hand. Going out to salt the walkway and sidewalks isn’t really all the big of a deal. He can handle it.

“Nah, that’s fine. I got it.” 

With the kids all ready for bed, they all head downstairs. It’s their night time routine around here -- one Bucky’s come to love. Sort of a nice way to wind down with the kids sitting between them, fluffy blanket tucked around them all, while they watch one half hour cartoon. 

Sarah’s already down there, her choice of DVD in hand. Tonight she’s picked her one of her favorite Barbie cartoons -- never can tell with her, last night it was Batman. She climbs onto the couch while Bucky puts the DVD in and Steve gets the blanket all ready. Bucky takes it from him though, gets them all settled on the couch so that they’re all taken care of while he goes out to salt the sidewalks. 

Once again, Steve asks if he just wants to wait until the kids’re in bed. That he’ll come out and help him do it. Bucky just smiles and kisses his head before heading over to the front hall to shove his feet into his winter boots, pull his jacket on, and open the bag of rock salt fo find that there’s barely any left in there at all. Not even a full cup’s worth. 

“Hey, Steve,” he says back towards the living room. “We got no more salt. I’m gonna run to the store, I’ll be right back.” 

“Wait!” Steve shouts. Bucky can hear the slight commotion. Steve scrambling with the kids to get up and rush over. “Wait, wait, wait!” 

“What?” Bucky asks when they come sprinting around the corner like life or death depends on it. “What’s wrong?”

Steve flashes him a goofy smile and bunches the front of Bucky’s shirt in his hand to pull him in for a kiss. 

“Nothing.” He shrugs. “But you can’t leave without saying goodbye.” Before Bucky gets the chance to scoff or laugh -- mostly because he’s too busy gazing in awe of this man -- Steve holds Ian up right in Bucky’s face and says, “Or say goodnight to _these_ monsters!” 

Bucky gasps. “You’re right!” he agrees. “Of course not!” 

As soon as he says it, Bucky’s wrapping Ian in his arms and Sarah is jumping at his feet demanding a goodnight kiss from Papa, too. They’re a barrel laughs. Bucky holding Ian and Steve holding Sarah so everyone can give Papa goodnight kisses. 

“Okay, okay,” Steve says to Sarah after a bit. “You’re getting heavy, kiddo.” 

He sets her down and Sarah shouts another goodnight to Papa before running over to the other end of the front hall. Probably for one of her Barbie dolls which always ends up over there after outdoor adventures. 

“I’ll get them into bed,” Steve tells him. Adds another kiss. “Be careful, okay? If it gets….”

Bucky loses Steve’s next few words. It’s not his fault, really. He wants to listen, it’s just that he can’t. All he can hear is the jingle of the bell. The bell ringing loud and echoing through both his ears.

His stomach drops when he looks over his shoulder to see Sarah standing by her bike, thumb against the handle of the bike bell. The bike has been there since Christmas day, bell attached to the handle bars, silent and forgotten about. Until now. When she rings it again. 

“What’re you…” Bucky’s voice is lost in a fog. Thick and sudden. “What’re you doing?”

“Ringing my bell,” she answers. Bright and cheerful. A lighthouse out of the fog. “The one you gave me for Christmas. Is that okay, Papa?” 

“Yeah…” 

“Buck?” Steve’s hand is on his shoulder, guiding him back around so that they’re facing one another again. “You okay, babe?” 

Steve. Steve is in front of him, those baby blues staring deep into his and pulling him back to where he wants to be. Here. With Steve. 

Shaking his head, Bucky gives him a quick grin. “Yeah. Yeah, I… I’m fine. Sorry. Um.” He grabs his keys off the hook on the wall. “I’ll be right back, okay?” He looks down at Sarah who’s next to him again. “You be good for Daddy.” 

She nods and pulls her arms up to make her muscles like she did earlier today, claiming that Amazing Sarah is _always_ on the side of good. Chucking, Bucky gives her hair a ruffle and heads to the store. 

There aren’t many people out. Not unusual since temperatures are expected to drop below freezing tonight. In fact, the parking lot of the convenience store has only one other car in it. Bucky just hopes they have some rock salt left. If not, not means he’s gotta go all the way to the actual grocery store and he _really_ doesn’t wanna do that. There’s sure to be more people there and he’d like to get home and spend the rest of this cold night with Steve. 

Bucky heads straight for the back, where he knows the salt should be, and, as luck would have it, there’re _two_ bags left. Perfect. 

“$5.99?” he grumbles when he sees the cost. He shakes his head as he stands back up with the bag tucked under his arm. “It’s just _salt_ for god’s sake.”

Well, at least he won’t have to wait on a long line or anything. The only other customer in the store is already being helped and she’s only buying one thing. 

“Is that all today, miss?” the clerk asks. 

And Bucky’s blood runs cold at the sound of the voice. 

Heart pounding and stomach folding, Bucky creeps closer to the checkout counter. He lets out an angry breath. 

“What’re you doing here?” he asks. 

“Bucky!” Eli exclaims. “How ya feelin’? Is that _rock salt_?” He laughs as he rings up the young girls soda. “Look at you! Went out and got all domestic on me, didn’t ya?”

“Why’re you…” Bucky’s voice shakes. He clears his throat. “Why’re you here?”

Eli’s not paying attention to him though. He’s too busy taking a dollar bill from the girl and counting her out change for a ten instead. 

“You’re not sending me back.” 

Eli still doesn’t answer. He’s thanking the customer for coming in and wishing her a nice night. But the girl just stands there. Looks at the change he’s laid out in front of her. 

“Everything alright?” Eli asks her.

Gathering up the money, she nods and starts heading for the door.

“Hey!” Bucky shouts. “Are you listening? I said you’re--”

But Eli holds a finger up to shush him. Tells him to wait while the girl hesitates at the door and looks back at Eli. After that pause, she pushes the door open and leaves, extra money still in her hands. 

“You see that?” Eli shakes his head. “Character. And for what? For nine bucks? I mean, that’s just so disappointing.” 

To hell with that. Bucky couldn’t give a shit about what other things Eli might be up to. Whatever otherwordly things are up his sleeve, he’s just not even _remotely_ interested. 

“You’re not sending me back,” Bucky grumbles. “You’re not.” 

A curve pulls up the corner of Eli’s mouth. He glances down at the counter and snickers through his nose. 

“You really figured some things out, huh?”

Figure things out. That’s right. What Eli had said to him on that fateful Christmas morning. He had to figure it out for himself. 

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “I didn’t have everything I needed. I was… I was lonely.” Bucky’s throat feels too tight. “I have to stop pushing people away, I need companionship, friends, people, whatever, okay? I _got_ it. But you can’t do this. This is… this is _wrong_. You can’t keep coming in and out of people’s lives and messing things around!”

“Okay, let’s just relax, Bucky.” 

Bucky flings the bag of rock salt down on the counter, his fingers curling into fists. A part of him wants to haul off and slug Eli right in the jaw. More so today than he did Christmas morning. He doesn’t know what else to do. How to get it through to him. Eli can’t take this away from him. He can’t. 

“I’m _not_ leaving,” Bucky growls. 

“I told you, Bucky, this is just a glimpse--”

“But I…”

“--and a glimpse, by definition, is an impermanent thing.” 

Hands on the counter, the only thing keeping him from falling over, a rush of tears burns behind Bucky’s eyes. He lowers his head. Shakes it.

“Please.” There’s a quiver in his voice. The splintering of his heart wishing to fight against the inevitable. “Don’t take Steve away from me. Please.” 

Eli sighs, soft and sympathetic, but Bucky can’t bare to look up to see his face. See upon it what he already knows will be there.

“Look, Bucky,” he says. “Tomorrow you’ll wake up and you’ll go on. And you can take whatever you want from all this.” 

A tremor runs down Bucky’s spine. Out of anger or desperation or heartache, he’s not sure. All he knows is that his throat is too tight and the room is blurry and he can’t think straight. He sniffles and sucks in an angry breath as he reaches into his pocket for his wallet. 

“I have a family,” he mutters. Flings seven dollars down on the counter and picks up the bag of rock salt. “I’ve got kids. I’m going _home_.” 

The truth of what’s going to happen weighs down on Bucky like the world has crashed over him. He can’t get out of the car when he pulls in front of the house. As though somehow staying in there will keep this from happening. Will make this all last forever. 

Shadows loom over him, stripping him away of the bright rays of sunlight that have bathed him, here, in a place never expected to want to stay. There’s nothing more to do now, but enjoy whatever time he has left. Bucky knows that. It’s in his brain, the logical and rational side that’s pushing him to move. To get out and spend this time in his home. With Steve. 

It’s his heart that just won’t listen. The broken pieces unable to mend themselves into working order. 

Bucky sighs when a strong wind howls against the car. Branches of the trees in front of the house hit together, the first signs ice glistening like diamonds off the street lights. He still has to salt the sidewalks. He can still do that much before he… before this…

When he’s finished, Bucky makes his way back inside. Slips out of his coat and shoes and just stands there in the living room. A room he once despised that he’s now a part of. It’s a part of him, too. The old carpet, the outdated furniture, the pictures on the wall. They’ve latched onto his soul. 

Above the mantel now is the handprint picture that he made with Ian today. Bucky smiles. Steve sure works fast. Tracing his fingers over Ian’s handprint, Bucky looks up at the ceiling. It’s quiet. The busy day has probably knocked the kids out early. They’re probably already sound asleep. 

Bucky goes to Ian’s room first. Peers over the side of the crib. Sure enough, he’s on his side sleeping away. He pets a hand over his head. Over the soft hair that he’s learned to wash and dry and take care of. Bucky lifts Ian’s little hand in his -- the same he made a print of today -- and presses a soft kiss. Ian’s fingers even curl around his a little. 

In Sarah’s room, Bucky kneels down by her bed. He just watches her sleep for a bit, his little partner-in-crime. The smart little whip who should undoubtedly run for president one day. She’ll make the world a better place, he’s sure of it. 

The blanket around her has slipped down to her waist so Bucky brings it up to tuck it back all around her. The bit of movement wakes her a bit. Makes her stir and rub at her eyes, though she’s hardly awake as she looks at Bucky through hooded eyes and a sleepy gaze. 

“S’morning?” 

“No, sweetheart.” He finishes tucking the blanket around her shoulders and she burrows into it. “Go back to sleep.” 

Yawning, Sarah nods and is already drifting back, getting out just a very soft, “night, Papa,” before she does. 

Bucky sighs, touching his hand gently to over her head. 

“Goodbye, Sarah,” Bucky murmurs, voice thick with tears. “I’m going back to the mothership. Take care of your daddy. And your real papa. He’s the one who deserves you and Ian. And Steve.”

And this life. Bucky sees that now. He doesn’t belong here, as much as he wishes he could stay. Bucky’s heart beats with the longing and pain of knowing that truth. He doesn’t deserve to stay here. He’s not the one who made the decision to come back from Russia all those years ago. Bucky made the decision to stay there. To end things with Steve. To cut him out of his life. 

As Bucky goes back into the master bedroom, he smiles softly through the tears that gather in his eyes when he sees Steve sketching happily in their bed. The one he’s had the gift and pleasure of sharing with him these past weeks. 

Steve had been right, that night at the airport. The only thing they needed to make them great was each other. What they shared -- _had_ together -- is what made them great. In this life, it still does. Bucky never needed Forbes Magazine to make him great. All he ever needed was Steve. 

Bucky needs to go back to the life that he made for himself. To the one where he didn’t come back from Russia. Didn’t come back for Steve and instead went on with to earn his success and fortune he’s so proud of without realizing what he was losing in the process. 

“I love you, Steve,” he whispers, perched against the doorframe. “So much.”

Steve, lost in his drawing, looks up as though startled by Bucky’s endearment. He grins and blushes, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“I love you, too.” He glances back up at him. “Why’re you sneaking up on me?”

Smiling, suppressing the trembling that tries to rock through him, Bucky pushes away from the door and comes to sit at the side of the bed. He takes hold of Steve’s hand. Runs his thumb over soft knuckles and brings them to his lips for a kiss. One last time. Steve looks at him as though he’s just done the greatest thing in the entire world. Bucky’s heart shudders, bits of it flaking off in tiny little pieces. He misses him so much already. 

“I just like looking at you.” Bucky grins when Steve blushes again. “Hey, listen. I know, recently, I’ve said and done… _things_ that were strange.”

Steve chuckles and puts his sketchpad over his lap. “It’s been interesting, that’s for sure.”

There’s a tug at the corner of Bucky’s mouth. Bucky tried to deny it as much as he could when he first got here, but easing back into being with Steve -- the playful teasing, the touches, the intimacy -- it was as natural as breathing. But he screwed up. And not just the big ones. Little slips of not knowing where this went or what he was supposed to do at certain times. Still, for all those times that Steve noticed, _interesting_ is how he’s chosen to describe it. 

But Bucky also can’t help but wonder, along with the screw ups -- big and small -- did he do anything right?

“I did…” Bucky clears his throat. “I’ve done some… some good things, too, though, haven’t I?”

It comes out so pitiful sounding, almost a sad little whine, but Bucky can’t really bare the thought of leaving here without having one good thing for this family. 

But Steve only smiles at him just like he did when they were college kids. Just like he did the first time Bucky ever said he loved him. Just like he did when Bucky held him close in his arms. 

Steve smiles at him just like he always has. 

“You’ve been Bucky Barnes.” He gives Bucky’s hand a squeeze, a calming reassurance that not using his married name means anything bad. “And for me? You being Bucky Barnes is _always_ a good thing.”

The emotions that have gathered in his chest spring through the rest of his body like a rock has been tossed into a pond -- hundreds of ringlets consuming him all at once. 

“I need you to remember me, Steve,” Bucky says, the strain in his throat only kept out of his voice by his desire not to upset his husband. His husband for a few more hours. “I need you to remember me this way. The way I am, right now. I need you to… to put that image in your heart and carry it with you forever. Keep it there, no matter what happens.” 

There’s a slight drop to Steve’s shoulders as he shifts a bit. Sits up a little straighter while never taking his eyes off of Bucky. 

“Are you okay?” he asks. “Is… is anything wrong, Bucky? If it is we can--”

“No,” Bucky assures him. Puts a hand to the side of his neck, his fingers brushing against soft hair. “Nothing’s wrong. I just need you to promise me that, okay? Please, promise me, Steve, please. Because if you don’t, then it’s like it never happened. And I don’t think I could live with that. Please…” His voice drops to a whisper. “Just promise me that you’re going to keep me in your heart.” 

Taking Bucky’s hand, Steve tucks it in both of his. He holds it close to his chest, getting close, but not quite touching where his heart is. 

“Bucky,” he murmurs. “Y’know, I think I’ve loved you from the first moment I saw you. Your goofy smile at me in history when I was mouthing off my first week of school and then… smiling at me through crazy days and nights all the way to graduation.” Steve sits forward, pressing Bucky’s hand to his cheek. “And working our asses off for a tiny one bedroom apartment in Brooklyn and moving out here together. We’ve had our ups and downs and even crazy Christmases and anniversaries.” He adds a smile, so Bucky snickers. “There’s always one things that’s been a constant in all of that. You and me, babe. _Us_.” Getting up onto his knees, his sketchpad slipping off the bed, Steve presses his brow to Bucky’s. “You have made me _deliriously_ happy for twelve years. I’m going to keep in my heart, Bucky. I promise.” 

A tremble of a heartbeat, and Bucky feathers a kiss to Steve’s lips. 

“Promise again?” he whispers.

Steve smiles. “I promise.” 

“Thank you.”

Sitting back in bed now, Steve draws the covers back on Bucky’s side. He fluffs the pillows and pats the mattress. 

“Come to bed,” he says. 

“Soon,” Bucky tells him. Gets up and kisses the top of his head. The mess of beautiful, golden hair he’d woken up to weeks ago. Locks of sunshine that brighten any room. 

All Bucky needs to do is take Cap for her walk. One last time. He whistles for her, a quick _c’mon_ girl and she’s hustling over to him faster than her legs can carry. 

There’s an open field just a few blocks away, behind the railroad tracks, where Cap likes to run around. That’s where Bucky goes tonight. He’s not sure at first why. Not when he could just walk around the block once with the dog and hurry back up to Steve. Spend more time with him. But instead, he ends up at the field with Cap, watching her dart across the frosty blades of grass.

The air is cold. Overly so, but not uncomfortable strangely enough. There’s something refreshing about being there. Out where the cold winter air can just wash over him, cleansing and freeing, as he finds himself more grateful for his short time here than any of his success anywhere else. 

Bucky glances up at the sky -- at the thick, insulation of clouds above -- and sees the first few flakes of snow begin to fall. He lets them rest upon his face. Lets them melt over his skin and cling to his hair and gather in the palms of his hands. A peaceful feeling descends over him. Makes this -- _all_ of this -- real. 

Steve is half asleep by the time Bucky gets back so Bucky just gets in bed next to him. The weight shifting about makes Steve hum contently and he almost sits up. Bucky doesn’t let him. Instead, he guides his head back down so that he’s resting against his chest. Almost like that first morning. 

Only tonight, Bucky holds him close. Tonight, Bucky pets his hand softly over Steve’s hair. Soft, golden locks he’s now spent mornings dizzy just watching the sun kiss playful streaks into. Tonight, Bucky rubs his hand over a mass of back muscles to keep Steve comfortable. A warm, solid presence that Bucky’s grown so used to having next to him every night and morning that the thought of losing it hurts. Tonight, Bucky forces himself to stay awake. To hold onto every little bit of this he can before it’s gone. 

Every single time Bucky starts to nod off, the sleep creeping in and that jolt of realization snapping him back awake, the tears come on stronger. Burn behind his eyes and he holds onto Steve a little tighter. Pulls him close like he can keep him to himself. 

Late into the night, when the windowpanes whisper answers to the howls of the winds, Bucky Barnes-Rogers tucks Steve Rogers-Barnes in closer one more time. 

And then finally falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know, I almost forgot that it was the weekend! Thank you for bearing with me and sticking with the story!


	11. For You and Me, Endlessly

A strange noise wakes him in the morning. Bucky can’t quite place it as he rolls over in the dark room, face pressed into the fluffy pillows, as his hand searches around on the nightstand for whatever it it. His fingers touch his phone and he gathers it up. He cracks his eyes open just enough to see that it’s a text from his sister. That can wait. Why would she be texting him so damn early anyway?

Bucky silences the phone and flings it back onto the nightstand before rolling back over. Tossing his arm over… nothing. A gasp catches in his throat. Eyes flying open as his hand roams over the emptiness of the cool, crisp blankets next to him, Bucky sits up and looks around. 

His bedroom is just as it should be. Automatic blinds still closed. The cool, sleek lines of the room symmetrical and easy to look at, a few pieces of modern art on the walls. Floors heated. Every piece of furniture high-end and new and modern. 

And yet everything feels wrong. 

There’s no sunlight streaming in to hit his face and swim sweetly through the room. No cluttered corners and messy work spaces. Piles of folded clothes and a pair of overstuffed dressers. Something is missing. That lived in, homey touch. A space that’s seen happiness and warmth and love in its stitches. A place that’s never held… 

“Steve…” Bucky whispers. 

His hand roams over the spot where his husband should be. Where Steve should be sleeping next to him and if Bucky wanted to, he could just curl up against him. Bucky’s slept and woke in this bed more times than he can count -- sometimes with someone, sometime without -- and he’s never felt more alone than he does right now. 

Bucky runs his hands over his face, shoulders sagging and heart twisting. He reaches for his phone again and immediately opens his photo album. Looks for the picture he already knows won’t be there. Two people, eyes all puffy from crying, and yet looking at each other so full of warmth and love. The first real picture Bucky snapped of him and Steve in over a decade. 

His hands tremble as his thumb slides through the photos there. Photos that he’s taken at various events and beautiful women and celebrities. A few of his nephews and of him with Tony and Pepper, Rhodey and Carol. Not the one he’s looking for. No Steve. 

There never was any Steve on this phone. Never any Sarah or Ian. It’s all gone now. His family. Gone. 

The loss of them is all around him. In the stillness of the bedroom he longed to return to. In the quiet of the Park Avenue penthouse he was so proud of. In the emptiness of everything. 

As he sits there at the side of his bed, back in his life and all alone, Bucky wonders what it is he’s even supposed to do now. How does he even carry on after all this time? How can he even _go_ on without Steve and their children? A shudder runs through his body as he tries to answer the impossible. 

When his phone goes off again, he’s tempted to throw it across the room, deriving great pleasure from the thought of seeing shattering into a whole bunch of useless pieces. 

Instead, he grunts and this time checks the second text message he’s gotten from his sister at this early hour. Both are pictures of his nephews. Both of them are of them opening presents by a tree. Both of them are with captions that read _Merry Christmas, Uncle Bucky_. 

“Christmas?” Bucky shakes his head. That makes no sense. “It’s not Christmas.” 

Bucky checks the date. His recent emails. Texts. Everything. Each of them tell him the same thing. December 25th. 

“What the hell?” he grumbles. Rubs at his eyes and tries to recall what happened last night. “I went to the store…” 

He went to the store because there was no rocksalt left. And when he was there he stopped to get some eggnog. No, wait. That’s not right. There was a fight. Because the clerk wouldn’t give the right amount of change? Or a lotto ticket? Eli? Is that who it was? Ugh, Bucky can’t remember. 

He can remember Christmas Eve greetings with Rhodey and Carol and meetings with Bruce rushing to get out of there so he could get home for the holidays. He can remember Darcy and giving her cruise tickets and Tony and Pepper asking him to come to dinner. He can remember them asking about Steve. 

Steve, Steve, Steve. 

He can remember waking up confused as hell on Christmas morning with Steve and Sarah and Ian, and running around like a lunatic trying to figure out what the hell was going on. Eli again, telling him he was working on a new deal. Bucky can remember mess up, after mess up, after mess up, until figuring things out. Until realizing that he never even stopped loving Steve in the first place. He can remember needing Sarah and Ian and Steve, and knowing he was going to lose them. 

But how? How could any of that be real when today is Christmas? 

“Was it a dream?” Bucky mumbles. “Shit.” 

It must’ve been. That’s the only explanation. Darcy had been bugging him about Steve and then Tony asked for more details and then Pepper talked about how Bucky broke his heart so Steve was on his mind. The big old _what if_. 

Bucky grunts, texts his sister back and tosses his phone on the bed before getting up to get ready for the day. No point in lingering over a dream. He can’t _really_ miss something that never existed in the first place and he has a life to get back to. Or a life to live. He doesn’t even know anymore. 

On the back of his door is the designer robe that Bucky had made specially for him -- Italian silk. Cost him a pretty penny to make it custom. Now it feels all wrong. Wrapped around his body still cool and fine and soft as he stands there in his kitchen and just looks around it. It’s so… quiet. Empty. Of course it is. Bucky’s all alone. 

Sighing, Bucky picks up the phone to call for service to bring him up breakfast. Only that doesn’t seem all that appealing. An amenity he pays a lot for that doesn’t seem all that important now. He’s not sure if he could stomach anything too big right now anyway. He puts the phone down and gets something lighter for himself. 

“Hey, Ma,” he says via speaker phone as he eats breakfast. A bowl of bran flakes and almond milk. Bucky can’t even remember the last time he had just a bowl of cereal for breakfast unless he counts the Lucky Charms he had with Steve and the kids the other day. Which he can’t. Cause that didn’t really happen. “Merry Christmas.” 

“Bucky!” she exclaims loud enough that her voice cuts the speaker out for a second. “Merry Christmas, honey! I didn’t think we’d hear from you so early!”

He rechecks the time again. It’s a little before nine, his sister’s earlier texts coming in about a half an hour ago. She probably figured he wouldn’t call until he got through with some sort of meeting. On her end, Bucky can hear the hectic commotion of a full house. His sister and his brother-in-law. The two boys. Their two dogs. Maybe an aunt and uncle or some cousins already there. The family together. Bucky closes his eyes. 

“No. I, uh…” He clears his throat. “I wanted to hear your voice.” 

There’s a definite hesitation and she must be moving somewhere more private since Bucky can hear the noises quiet down. 

“Are you okay, James?” she asks once a door closes behind her. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Bucky murmurs. “I guess I just wanted to get in touch with you guys before I had to go to work.” 

She sighs and possibly sits down. Bucky guesses, from the squeaky sounds of springs, that she’s in her bedroom.

“Perks of being the boss, James,” she says, “is that you shouldn’t _have_ to go to work on big holidays. And maybe you shouldn’t be making other people come in either.” 

“This is a big deal, Ma,” he grumbles. Pokes at his cereal with his spoon. For some reason, this deal going through just doesn’t seem so important anymore. “Worth a lot of money for the company.” 

“Well, just as long as you know there’s always a place for you here. You wanna talk to everyone else? I’ll get your sister?”

Bucky spends another ten or fifteen minutes on the phone with them. With Rebecca thanking him for the Bed and Breakfast vouchers he sent for her and John, and the twins shouting their excitement for each of their ride on Chevy Trucks -- this year’s hottest model of ride on children’s toys -- and John insisting he didn’t have to do that. 

“It was no trouble, really.” Bucky tries to muster up some sort of enthusiasm and fails short. “I hope they enjoy them.”

“You know what would really make this Christmas really something?” Rebecca asks. 

“What’s that, Beck?” he says, aimlessly reading through an email and not paying attention to it at all. 

“If you were here.” She doesn’t miss the huff that comes from his end. “I’m just sayin’. Would it’ve really killed you to’ve spent Christmas with your family?”

The words plunge between his ribs like a red hot poker. _Your family_. He knows who she means by that. All of them out there in Indiana. Probably all getting ready to eat stacks of his mom’s pancakes. 

“Pancakes…” Bucky whispers. 

“What was that?”

Bucky clears his throat. “Um. Nothing. I gotta go. I just wanted to wish everyone a Merry Christmas.”

She manages to get in one last holiday endearment before he hangs up and drops the phone on the table. Stupid to worry about people who aren’t real, but Bucky can’t help wondering about his family and his extended family in the glimpse. Dream. Whatever. Did they see each other for different holidays? Thanksgiving maybe? Did he and Steve fly out to Indiana with the kids or did his mom come out to them? Did the kids call his sister Aunt Becca? Did Sarah get along with the twins? She’s only two years older than them. Bucky can see her suckering them into jumping over pits of hot lava while being Amazing Sarah’s sidekicks. 

“No!” Bucky flings his spoon down into his near empty bowl of cereal. “They’re not _real_! They were _never_ real!” 

Slamming his hands down, Bucky pushes away from the table. He can’t afford thinking about things that aren’t real. He’s got something important to do today and some dream about an imaginary family isn’t going to stop him from getting it done. 

Stark Industries is going to open trades with Panther Inc. and Forbes Magazine is gonna get their story and Bucky’s gonna continue being on top of the world just like he was when he went to sleep last night. Everything he needs is right here. _Everything_. 

“Everything,” he grumbles as he runs his toothbrush through his mouth after a long, steamy shower. “I have _everything_ I need.”

He bends over the sink to rinse his mouth out. And finds himself trembling hard enough he’s unable to lift back up. Tears burn behind his eyes. Useless, ridiculous tears that he just can’t hold back as he stands there bent over his sink.

“Shit,” Bucky mutters. Turns off the water and instead of continuing getting ready for work just pulls on a pair of jeans and shirt. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he says as he pushes the button for the elevator. “This is stupid. This is so stupid.” 

The elevator takes forever to bring him down to the lobby. It never stop along the way, but it still takes longer than it should for the doors to open to a lobby decorated in wreaths and trees and twinkling lights. The doorman, Carl, is behind the front desk. Big, happy smile on his face as he hangs up the phone and directs someone over to the elevators and spots Bucky getting them. 

“Mr. Barnes!” he greets. “Merry Christmas!” 

Last time Bucky remembers interacting with him, Carl was insisting he had no idea who he was. Wouldn’t let him come into the building Bucky swore he lived in. Or, well, that was the glimpse. Or dream. 

Bucky gives him what might be considered an acknowledgement and just continues heading outside. Where he slips into his Ferrari -- the fine, Italian leather almost a stranger to him now -- and drives to Long Island. 

***

The route is just as he remembers, like a map that’s been ingrained in his memory, branded into his soul. There’re no wrong turns or hesitations. Bucky gets himself there as though he’s gone back and forth many times, even through the twists and turns of the side streets after he exits the Long Island Expressway. 

When he pulls over, pulls up to the curb of what would be the spot in front of his house, he’s afraid to look. Afraid of what he might see. Bucky’s not sure what he’s more afraid of though. That it’ll be the house in the glimpse. Or it won’t be. 

Eyes closed, Bucky holds his breath before turning that way. A broken sob forces its way out of his throat when he opens his eyes. Sees the house. The house he once dreaded and then came to love with every beat of his heart. Those inside of it. The ones who brought it to life with love and warmth and happiness. Hell, even the fights and tears and sadness. They were a family in that house. 

Bucky goes up to it, slowly stepping up the stone stoop and placing his hand on the outer wall -- a need to feel it for himself. He stands there for a second, in front of the door, before ringing the bell. Bucky half expects the door to open and have Sarah come flying out. For her to shout a happy hello and wrap her arms around his legs while he picks her up. For Steve to be right behind her with Ian in his arms, big smile on his face. When the door knob twists, Bucky’s foolish enough to hope. 

The door opens. 

And all the hope falls to Bucky’s stomach like lead. 

“Can I help you?” asks the man standing there. A man Bucky’s never seen before. 

There’s really only one thing Bucky can think to say. “Is Steve here?”

“I’m sorry?” 

“Steve,” Bucky repeats, the obvious answer to his question already weighing heavy in his heart, dragging his shoulders and just managing to keep his face from falling. “Does Steve live here?”

“Steve?” The man shakes his head. “No, I’m sorry. There’s no Steve here.”

“Yeah. I didn’t, uh, I didn’t think so.” 

Bucky might mumble an apology for bothering them on Christmas, he’s not sure, he can’t really make out what his voice is saying over the pounding of his pulse. He makes an awkward attempt at leaving only to just keep standing there for a long, drawn out moment while his eyes fill with tears. 

“Hey.” The man takes a step closer. Asks gently, “Are you alright?”

Swallowing the hard rock in his throat Bucky looks up at him. At the kind man who doesn’t know him at all and is still showing compassion. All Bucky can do his shrug. 

“I don’t know.”

He leaves then. Bucky makes his way back to his one of a kind, incredible car and gets in. Just sits there surrounded by the crisp smell and smooth seats, miserably trying to figure out what to do next. He doesn’t know how to mourn people who never existed. He doesn’t know how to let them go. He doesn’t know how to go on without his family. 

One thing he knows is he can’t just sit there. Bucky turns around and goes… well, he heads home. 

He can just see the city skyline when his phone starts going off. Bluetooth. Top of the line. Good things. The best things. Bucky pushes the button on the steering wheel to answer it. 

“Hello?”

“Boss! Where are you? Everybody’s here!”

Bucky shakes his head. Tries to clear the fog and confusion, and get his mind back in working order. 

“Darcy?”

“You’re a half an hour late!” she exclaims. “Strategy meeting? Trip to Switzerland…?” Darcy scoffs. “Is _any_ of this ringing a bell? Everyone is panicked here, Boss.” 

Bucky doesn’t saything right away. Going into the office isn’t what he wants to do right now, not at all, but this was a meeting that _he_ called and on Christmas morning at that. He’s pulled all of these people away from their families on Christmas day just so they can go over things that Bucky can probably handle on his own. 

“Boss?” Darcy questions. “You there?”

“Um…” He glances at the clock and looks at the traffic. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” 

It takes just a little longer than twenty minutes to get there and Bucky can hear the commotion Darcy spoke of as he trudges towards the conference room. Bruce is in there. On the phone, it sounds like, telling someone that they’re in a crisis. The second he eases the door open to go in, he’s hit with everything at once. A hailstorm of panic and comments and questions that he just can’t sort through.

“Wait, wait.” Bucky waves his hands out in front of him. “What? What’s going on?”

“Oh, Mr. Barnes!” Bruce shouts. “You’re here. Thank god, you’re… this has been…” He pauses and looks him over. Must take in the sloven way Bucky’s dressed -- as compared to normal anyway -- and the exhausted look on his face. “Are you okay?”

Bucky sighs and pinches the spot between his eyes. He doesn’t have much room for pity and sympathy today, even if it’s coming from the kindest of places.

“Just… tell me what’s going on.”

“What’s going on?” Bruce gives him a humorless chuckles. “What’s going on is… well, it’s not good, Mr. Barnes, it’s not good. There’s a European company talking to Panther Inc. and we don’t know which one.” He runs fingers through his hair, nervous eyes staring out behind his glasses. “But they’re offering a better percentage rate and now everyone is scrambling around trying to match it and Panther Inc. says we should’ve been _prepared_ for this! Prepared! We’re in trouble here. So much trouble.”

Everyone goes quiet. The whole room as they wait for Bucky to do what he normally does. Fix it. Fix this. To show the business world just why Forbes Magazine dubbed him the Winter Soldier of Wall Street. Only Bucky doesn’t do anything. He just stands there staring back at all of them. 

“Mr. Barnes?” Bruce questions when Bucky goes on not doing anything. “Um… shouldn’t we… uh--”

“You know, Bruce,” Bucky interrupts. “Somewhere inside of you is a much more assertive person. It’s okay to let ‘im out. He’s really not the monster you’re afraid of.”

Bruce blinks and then dares a chuckle. “Is this some sorta new-aged philosophy thing?”

“No.” 

After a brief exchange with the others in the conference room and an awkward clearing of his throat, Bruce brushes his hand over his tie and doesn’t seem to know what to do. 

“So, um, what’re we gonna do?” he asks. 

Closing his eyes, Bucky takes in a deep breath and attempts to make some sense of his reality. To shake away what he wishes was real and just accept what is. 

“I’ll tell you exactly what we’re going to do,” Bucky says. “You’re going to do whatever it takes to find out who this European company is. Then, I’m going to clean myself up, fly to Switzerland and I’ll drink eggnog with T’Challa King. His wife and kids…” He ignores the horrible clenching to his stomach. “His family will be playing in the background while I convince him the European company is the Devil and Stark Industries is the answer to his prayers. And then, I’m going spend four hours skiing on some of the best slopes in the world.” Bucky smirks at all of them, eyes showing no joy at all. “ _Alone_. Completely and utterly alone. I’m going to do that because that’s what’s real. That’s the life I chose for myself eleven years ago and there is nothing I can do about it.” 

Everyone is staring at him like they don’t know what to do next, even if he’s already told them what they should be doing. His personal crisis has nothing to do with them. Bucky gestures for them to get started while he goes to his office in an attempt to get some sort of work done. 

It takes about an hour for them all to pinpoint just which company has been trying to swoop in and make a deal with Panther Inc. without the rest of the business world knowing. As soon as they know, Bucky’s sending the rest of the team home. 

“Are you sure?” Bruce asks. “I mean… we just…”

“Go home,” Bucky assures them all. “Go home and be with your families. I’m sorry I made you come in at all.” 

Bucky doesn’t wait for them to answer, though he’s sure there’s some sort of appreciate to being let off much earlier than previously anticipated. He just goes back to his office. Just drops into his chair and runs a hand over his face before turning back to his computer to keep working. 

There’s a voicemail on both his cell and his work line. Both are from Tony, Pepper, Rhodey, and Carol. All of them are shouting happy and enthusiastic holiday greetings. They’re the only things that have come close to putting a smile on Bucky’s face since talking to his family in Indiana. 

He’s in the middle of listening to the one on his work line, letting it play over speaker, when someone comes into his office. 

“Hey, Boss?”

Bucky looks up and quickly hangs up the phone. “Darcy? What’re you still doing here?”

“I’m about to leave, I just…” She’s tying up her scarf and buttoning up her coat. “Uh, I just wanted to see if you needed anything before I left.” 

Need. That word really seems to cause a hell of a lot of problems for him. As far as Bucky knew, he went to sleep last night having everything he needed. Now… now he doesn’t know anything. 

“I’m good, Darcy,” Bucky lies. “Go on. Have a good day with Ian.” 

The name curls around Bucky’s tongue. He covers his mouth to keep back the sob while Darcy asks if he’s about to be sick. Bucky shakes his head. Assures her that’s not the problem. 

“There is a little something, Darcy, that, um, I need a little help with.” Bucky says when he finds his voice again. “If you can.”

“Sure.” Darcy nods. “What’s up, Boss?”

“You remember Steve? Steve Rogers?” It takes a bit of effort not to say Steve Rogers-Barnes. “The guy who called… yesterday?”

Understanding begins to fill her face, a soft caring emotion that replaces the worry. 

“Yeah. I remember.” 

“Would you, uh…” Bucky picks at scrap paper on his desk. “Could you look up his number and address for me?”

Darcy gives him a small grin and starts to back up towards the door. “Sure thing, Boss. I can do that for you.”

Not even five minutes later she’s coming back into the office with a piece of paper in her hand. Darcy holds it out for him, but Bucky can’t bring himself to reach out and take it. Looking back at the paper with the information she’s just looked up for him and then Bucky again, Darcy nods and sets it down on the desk. 

“Merry Christmas, Boss,” Darcy murmurs.

She leaves him then, there in his office with the information on Steve. It’s right there. Just a small piece of paper that will tell Bucky exactly where he can find Steve and how to get in touch with him, and all he can do is stare at it wanting with everything he has to pick it up. 

His hand trembles when he reaches for it, even when he pulls it back before touching it. Maybe it’s not such a good idea. It’s been eleven years. And what’s he gonna say? Oh, hey, sorry for fucking everything up but I had this crazy thing happen, so…? 

Bucky closes his eyes and snatches the paper off his desk. Feels the sharp ends of it cutting into his palms like daggers as he crumples it up, ready to throw it away. He can’t do this to Steve. It isn’t right. Steve has a life. Moved on, and had every right to do so. Bucky can’t disrupt that. 

Although… and Bucky opens his eyes just before he’d drop the paper into the garbage, Steve _did_ call him last night. What if… what if he wanted to get in touch with Bucky? What if he had some crazy thing happen, too? Unlikely, but… he called. If anything, there’s a _reason_ he wanted to talk last night. Steve called him first. It wouldn’t be… so bad if Bucky contacted him now. Would it?

Opening the paper again, Bucky snatches his phone up and starts dialing the number before realizing there’re two numbers there. One for Steve’s work and one for Steve’s home -- along with addresses for each, just like he asked for. Bucky pauses. Curls his finger in and hangs up the phone. 

Bucky checks the time. It’s not that late and Steve actually doesn’t live too far from here. The flight Bucky needs to catch at JFK to get to Switzerland leaves at 8:30pm. He takes another moment to look at paper. The numbers etching their way into his soul. He can have his car brought home for him. Have a company car bring him where he needs to go without having to worry about it. 

This is probably a bad idea, but the empty spot in his chest, this carved out hole that hurts the bigger it gets, he needs to find a way to fill it before it kills him. 

Stomach clenched and tied in knot after knot, Bucky calls down for a car to take him to Steve’s. 

When the car pulls in front of the place, Bucky just sits there staring at the building. A townhouse tucked on a side block in Chelsea. Where Steve lives. Where he might be, right now, so close and yet Bucky feels miles away. There’s a moving van out front that blocks his view of the entrance as the movers carry boxes and furniture to load up. Almost like a sign. The entrance is blocked and Bucky shouldn’t even try.

Bucky looks at the building and tries to imagine the inside. Tries to picture the floor Steve lives on and how he’s got it decorated and the life he’s had within those walls. A life without Bucky. 

Despite the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Bucky pushes the door open and slowly makes his way across the street. He needs to wait even longer to let the movers go by again, but he takes the steps up to the front stoop and slips inside the building. 

It’s a nice place. Charming. The heart of New York City still beating through the bones. Steve lives on the second floor and as Bucky goes on up he realizes with a painful twist of the heart, that the movers are going in and out of there. 

He needs to move out of the way a few times as people try to get by him with their hands full. Things are packed in boxes and wrapped in styrofoam and bubble wrap. There’re hooks on the walls and a few outlines of where frames used to be. 

A young lady is walking around with a clipboard and a blue tooth in her ear as she directs the movers this way and that, telling them which things are priority and which need to be put into storage. 

“Okay, I need you to be careful with that,” she instructs when they start carting away a desk. “That’s got a lot of sentimental value and it’s very, very old. But you’ll probably need a few guys to carry it out.” She turns when someone asks her about a crate of paintings. “Those too! Careful! They’re important to Steve!” She sighs once like she’s just about had enough of everything when she spots Bucky just lingering there. “Yeah?”

All Bucky does is blink as though he doesn’t understand the question. Even weeks of learning how to improvise for unusual and awkward situations haven’t prepared Bucky for this. Being back in his own life, where he always felt so in control and on top of things, has just left him spiraling into a pit of uncertainty and heartache. 

“What’re you here for?” the young woman asks. “Are you with the moving company? What?”

“Um…” The words get all clogged up in Bucky’s throat. “I’m… Bucky. Barnes. I’m an old… friend. An old friend of Steve’s.” 

She just shakes her head like she’s got too much to do to worry about exactly who Bucky is. 

“Steve!” she calls out. “There’s some guy here to see you!”

As she gets back to directing the movers around and other things she seems to need to get done, Bucky just stands there waiting. Until he hears Steve’s voice. 

“Hey, Kate,” he says. He’s coming closer, and Bucky’s heart begins to pound. “Did you call the airline? I really need to get this sorted out.”

And then he’s there. Steve is walking into the open room carrying a box himself as he continues talking to Kate. A smile pulls up on Bucky’s mouth. Just an automatic response to seeing the man he loves. 

Steve looks amazing. A little like in the glimpse -- hair in the same style and some facial hair around his mouth and chin -- but there’s something more… high class about him. The way he’s dressed, maybe. Nice black turtleneck and designer jeans. Black shoes. Nicer than any day at home with the kids. 

He hasn’t noticed Bucky standing there yet and Bucky can’t bring himself to say a word even if a part of him fights back the instinct to go over there and wrap him in a backward hug. One arm. Kiss the back of his neck. 

Bucky’s stomach flips when Steve goes to point at something over by him and his eyes pass over him before he looks back at Kate. Then Steve’s eyes go wide and he looks back.

“Bucky.” He just pauses for a second before smiling. “Hey.” 

“Steve.”

Already that hole is being filled. There’s Steve. Right in front of him and he’s looking at him and he’s said hello to him. Bucky’s even about to go over, mind lost to the desires of his heart, and plant a kiss. 

“Wow, it’s… it’s been a long time.” 

That turns Bucky’s legs to lead. Bucky may remember Steve falling asleep in his arms last night -- his heart beating against his chest, the way his hair brushed against his chin, his easy, rhythmic breathing -- but it’s been eleven years for Steve. 

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees anyway. Gets the words past the rock in his throat. “You look great, Steve.” 

Cheeks turning pink, Steve ducks his chin down. Bucky honestly didn’t expect that. Not this time. 

“Thanks, Buck. You do, too.” Steve takes a step forward and then stops to look around. “I…” He waves Bucky to come closer. “Come on in, come in. I’m just… I’ve got… um, I’m just doing some…” Steve looks back at his assistant. “Hey, Kate, do you know where that box is?”

Focused on getting closer to Steve, Bucky isn’t paying much attention to what’s going on around him. He only gets a few steps further into the place before catching the corner of a box with his foot. Bucky tumbles to the floor, several boxes coming with him, one of which is still opened and spills notebooks and sketchpads all around him. Some of them open with their pages fanning out, some of them fall spine up -- all of them fall out of the box. 

“I… I’m sorry, Steve,” Bucky says, still on his hands and knees as he tries to collect up all the books in one shot. Even he can hear the pathetic way his voice sounds, very aware of the odd looks he's receiving by everyone else. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean to…”

“Hey, no, Bucky, don’t worry about it.” Steve comes over and crouches down in front of him. Picks up a few books himself while Bucky has a messy pile clutched to his chest. “It’s okay.” He grabs the box and tosses the few he has back in before holding it out to Bucky so that he can put those in as well. “Just toss ‘em in there. It’s not a big deal.” 

Steve stands back up and then offers his hand to help Bucky back to his feet. Eyes dropping to Steve’s hand, Bucky holds his breath and he slips his in. Warm and soft and strong as he gives Bucky a gentle tug back up. 

“See?” Steve is looking down at the box. “No harm done.”

When Steve lifts his gaze their eyes meet and for one brief moment the whole world around them melts away. Neither of them move. Their hands are still clasped together. Maybe they’d even stay that way if Bucky wasn’t suddenly overcome with the urge to give Steve’s an affectionate squeeze. A normal, familiar gesture he’s gotten so used to making again that he shouldn’t be making now. All it does is make Steve yank his hand back as though Bucky’s burned him and once again the world comes back in full force. 

“So.” Steve runs his fingers at the side of his head. “How are you? What’s it been? Ten years?”

“Eleven,” Bucky whispers. 

Steve’s eyes flick back up to him and linger for just a second more before he takes a step back.

“Right. Uh.” He smiles a little and points over his shoulder. “Well, c’mon in.”

Moving away from Bucky, Steve heads back into the heart of the living room where there are the most piles of boxes and packed up things. Like he’s looking for something. Rummaging through everything over there. 

“Um… what’s…” Bucky feels his throat getting tighter. “What’s going on, Steve?”

By a pile of boxes facing away from Bucky, Steve straightens up and spins around with a huge smile on his face. He spreads his arms and even laughs a little. 

“I’m moving to _Paris_!” he exclaims, lighting up even more now that he’s said it out loud. “Can you believe it?” Not missing a beat, Steve looks over to where his assistant is standing at the center island in the kitchen. “Hey, Kate? Have you seen the box I marked as _Bucky_? I put it with the Salvation Army stuff.” 

Bucky’s heart falls. Is that why Steve called then? 

“Hey, do you want me to call the airline?” Kate responds. “Or look for the box?”

Steve scoffs and makes a face at her. “Hey, kind of under a little pressure here.”

“Hey, kinda giving up Christmas day for her _ex_ -boss.”

“Yeah, you didn’t seem to mind when you were opening the Prada bag I gave you.”

That makes Kate chuckle and snort. She rolls her eyes and gestures towards a stack of boxes in the corner. 

“Check with the wardrobe stuff.” 

“Thank you.” 

As Steve goes to check over there, Bucky finds himself stepping closer. A sinking feeling rushes through him. Steve is… Steve is leaving. The country. He’s leaving. Bucky’s head is swirling. Everything is happening so fast. 

“You’re… so you’re moving?” he asks. “To Paris? Paris… Paris, France?”

“Yeah,” Steve chuckles. “That’s the one. My firm has an office there and I’m gonna be heading it up.”

He’s grinning ear-to-ear. This is what he’s always wanted. A year, at least, in Paris. See the Louvre. Climb the Eiffel Tower. Bucky had promised they’d climb it together. 

“Just like you always wanted,” Bucky murmurs. 

If Steve can hear the strain in Bucky’s voice he certainly doesn’t make any indication of it. He just nods and smiles some more. 

“I know! I dunno what I’m gonna do first.” He nibbles on his lip. “No, I’m gonna go to the Louvre first. Well, I mean, I guess I’ll unpack first.”

“No,” Bucky says with a soft grin. “You won’t.” 

Another blush passes across Steve’s face as he holds in a chuckle and agrees to that with shrug. 

“Okay, yeah. You’re probably right.” He doesn’t seem to notice that Bucky’s gotten just a few feet away. Or, if he has, he doesn’t care. “Can you believe this though, Bucky? _Paris_!”

The words are right to say, but they’re still hard to say them. “It’s your dream, Steve.”

“I know!” Steve -- big, broad shouldered, adorable Steve -- hops once. “I still can’t believe it! I feel like I should pinch myself.” Still over in the kitchen, Kate offers to do that for him. Steve rolls his eyes and looks back at Bucky. “I mean, I’m moving to Paris, it’s just so… First all your dreams…” 

Face falling, Steve cuts himself off before he gets any further with that. Bucky’s own gaze drops to his feet. Tears gather in the corners of his eyes. 

“Um… Steve…”

But Steve clears his throat and interrupts him. “I’m finally gonna get to climb the Eiffel Tower. Oh man.” He scoffs and shakes his head at himself. “I probably sound so ridiculous. A rich, important guy like you has probably been to Paris lots’a times. Climbed the Eiffel Tower a whole bunch, I bet.”

“No,” Bucky answers. “I mean, yeah, I’ve been to Paris, but…” He shakes his head, eyes still caught with Steve’s. “I never… never climbed the Eiffel Tower. It didn’t feel right without… you.”

His voice wobbles on the word, but it is the honest truth. Because no matter how often Bucky’s stood in front of the Eiffel Tower, during the day or lit up at night, a beautiful icon of a gorgeous city, he could never bring himself to go in -- not even if he was with a date. There’s only one person he’d ever climb the Eiffel Tower with. He’d made a promise. And that one he could never bring himself to break.

A strange expression passes across Steve’s face. Bucky can’t quite tell what it means, but his lips part slightly like he means to let his jaw drop open and then they set in a line. His eyes though, are swimming with something else.

“Oh.”

It’s all he says on the matter and Steve is much more focused on finding that box now. Remaining quiet with his head down and no longer giving Bucky the joy of looking into his eyes. 

Bucky’s stomach hurts. So bad. He’s going to ruin everything. Well, he’s already ruined everything. If he can salvage… oh, he doesn’t even know anything beyond this ache in his chest. This _need_ to try. To fight for what he knows is an amazing thing that they can have.

“So, you’re…” Steve doesn’t seem all that interested in speaking with him now, but Bucky still gives a little nudge to the silence. “You’re not at a nonprofit firm.” 

Steve doesn’t pause in his search this time. “Oh, god no. Not with what they pay me. I’m good here in immigration law.”

Still fighting the good fight. Still Steve, here in this life. Their life. No wonder Bucky’s never stopped loving him. 

“Are you moving with… your family?”

That does make Steve pause. His spine stiffens and his head lifts. When he looks at Bucky, he sucks in a deep breath. 

“No.” He runs his tongue along the inside of his cheek. “I never got married. You?”

Bucky shouldn’t have to fight back the tug at his lips. Steve was always meant to be a husband. To be a dad. Bucky knows that even more now. But knowing that Steve’s single, a _sliver_ of a hint that a flame might be able to be rekindled fills Bucky with so much hope he might float away. 

“No,” he says. “Not exactly.” Bucky’s heart is beating so hard he can feel it in his throat. “Um… Steve, do you think… maybe we can get a cup of coffee and--”

“Ah!” Steve claps his hands together and bends down. Coming back up with a box in his arms. “Here it is.” He comes back over, box in his grip and hands it over to Bucky. “It’s just some of your old… stuff. Just…”

When he gives the box over to Bucky, their hands touch again. Bucky looks into Steve’s eyes and it’s like nothing’s changed. As though they’re still married. Still on Long Island, the kids running around somewhere, the dog curled up in a corner. Their friends and neighbors on their side and always rooting for them. Like Bucky can just touch him and hug him and kiss him. Like not one day has gone by without seeing one another. 

“Steve,” Bucky murmurs. “Do ever think about us?”

Steve’s eyes grow a little and Bucky can hear a tiny gasp. “Bucky… don’t…”

“Do you ever wonder what… what it’d’ve been like? If I hadn’t…”

“Broken my heart?” 

It’s like a stab to his heart, really. A knife plunged deep and twisted. No truer words than the biggest mistake of his life. 

“I--”

Steve holds a hand up and shakes his head with a sigh. “No, it… it was a long time ago.”

“Steve…”

“Call me a lifesaver!” Kate’s walking back over with a piece of paper in her hand. “Your earlier flight was canceled, but I got you an 8pm out at JFK on American.”

“Oh, you are the _best_!” 

Just like that, Steve moves away from Bucky like he’s just a fixture here. Just one of the impersonal movers that he doesn’t need to pay all that much attention to. He’s already walking back into the living room. 

“Wait…” Bucky’s voice cracks. “Steve, please…”

As though suddenly remembering he’s there, Steve pauses and looks back at him. Eyebrows lifted just enough to tell Bucky he’s listening. 

“Um… can we… will you come get coffee with me? Just… we can maybe catch up a little?”

Steve’s eyebrows raise a fraction more. This time as though amused by the question.

“Hey, look, next time you’re in Paris, why don’t you look me up, okay?” Steve offers as he backs away. “And we’ll catch up then. But it was really good seeing you, Bucky. Really.” The sound of packing tape grabs his attention and he hurries over to where Kate is closing up a box. “No, no! Don’t close that one yet! I’ll never find this stuff again.”

“But… Steve…” 

His voice barely even comes out, and what does is pathetic at best. Bucky wants so badly to ask again. To even beg if that’s what it takes, but he has no right to such things. With the box Steve gave to him, the only reason he got in touch with him at all, Bucky wanders out, heart cracking with the pain he brought on himself eleven years ago. 

 

Bucky watches the buildings off the side of the parkway go by as the company car takes him to the airport. His head rests against the window. He just doesn’t have the strength or motivation to pick it up. What he probably should be doing is preparing for what he’s going to Switzerland for. This is the deal that Bucky’s been working towards for months. Instead, all he can think about is that box from Steve and what was in it. 

He’d gone home, throbbing with heartache, to get ready to leave. Bucky didn’t really know what else _to_ do. Nothing was going to change just because he suddenly felt differently about his life choices. But he just sat there, the box at his feet -- the last bit of connection he’d ever have to Steve -- afraid to even open it. 

It took him several tries before he finally worked up the nerve to take the lid off. The smell alone took him back to college. Brought him to a small dorm room with Steve. Where they’d study and laugh and, really, where it all began. 

The glands in Bucky’s throat swelled as he looked through the things in there. Junk, mostly, but all his things from back then. Things he probably had left in Steve’s dorm, but there they were. An old bottle of the cheap cologne Bucky used to wear. Some used notebooks. An NYU flag and hat. A yo-yo that Bucky didn’t even remember ever using and when he took it out, sure enough, he couldn’t use it properly. It was what was at the bottom of the box that hurt. 

The cat’s cradle book. The very same one that Steve and him kept on their bookshelf at home. Or, no, in the glimpse. Steve packed it away and sent it off with Bucky. 

Bucky had thumbed through it. Sure enough, just like in the glimpse, their little mementos still tucked away in the pages. The notes and tickets and little napkins. Even the photobooth pictures, though, much to Bucky’s surprise, the bottom one had been ripped off. 

That’s the only thing Bucky’s taken with him. He’s got the three remaining photos from the strip in his hand, his thumb absently running over it. There’s nothing more he can do now but… go on with his life. He’s showered and shaved and changed into more respectable clothes. Packed what he needed. Left for the airport, numb on the inside. 

“Sir?”

The driver’s voice startles him enough that he jumps. Bucky didn’t even realize he’d dropped his head into his hand. 

“Yeah?” Bucky shakes his head. “What is it?”

Pulling his eyebrows in, the driver opens his mouth but doesn’t say anything at first. He looks confused. In fact, it only occurs to Bucky now that he’s turned around from the front seat to talk to him. They’ve stopped. 

“It’s just… we’re here, sir.”

Bucky looks out the window. They’re parked in front of the airport where there’re employees waiting to take his bags. 

“Oh.” Bucky blinks and nods. “Okay. Thank you. Um…” He pushes the door open. “Happy holidays.” 

“Same to you, Mr. Barnes.” 

Curbside check in goes smooth and quick, and Bucky has his carry on as he goes into the airport, still holding onto the picture. He clears security in just a few minutes thanks to flying premium class. Then there’s nothing to do but wait in the Member's’ club room for the plane to start boarding. 

It’s still early. Over an hour before the plane even takes off. Other people there are chatting or on their laptops or reading. Entertaining themselves while Bucky can just sit there. 

He knows this is ridiculous. With or without Steve, he’s still Bucky Barnes. He’s worked hard and earned his success. His life is a good one. Even if he is lonely. Even if he does need to stop pushing people away and open his heart again. At least he sees that now. If nothing else, that’s a good thing. It has to be. And if Steve is happy without him, working hard and earning his own success, well, Bucky can live with that. 

Still, something about this feels wrong. Bucky looks back down at his pictures of Steve. At Steve and himself making goofy faces back at him as though a window to another world. A world of what was. A world of what could be. 

Eleven years ago he left Steve in this very airport. Teary-eyed and heartbroken. He doesn’t know what happened last night. He doesn’t know what happened to the family that feels so real in his heart. But he does know it was a mistake to leave Steve. To cut him out. Whether they ended up with the life Bucky glimpsed or some completely different one, life with Steve is the life that Bucky needs most. He’s not going to make the same mistake twice. Not without at least fighting for the man he loves. 

Steve’s assistant said his flight was at 8pm out of this airport. In twenty minutes.

Pictures in hand, Bucky leaves everything else behind and sprints out of the lounge. 

There are people everywhere as Bucky tries to figure out which gate Steve’s flight will be leaving from. He looks up and down the terminal, frantically trying to determine which way to go. The gate he needs can be in either direction and the pressure of figuring out which way to go alone has him tugging at his hair. 

Bucky goes to the left, back towards the main hub of the airport, pushing through the crowds with mumbled excuse me’s and hurried twists as he tries to avoid knocking anyone over. When he reaches the end of the terminal, Bucky skids to a halt and spins back around. 

“ _Shit_!” Bucky swears. “Shit. Shit, shit.” 

Steve’s gate isn’t this way, and now Bucky’s wasted all this time and if he doesn’t hurry he’s going to lose any chance with Steve forever. Bucky double backs and races the other way, begging the universe for a little bit of luck. Maybe he doesn’t deserve it, not after all the success the universe has already helped him with, but please, _please_ just a little luck right now.

Using any parting of the crowd to pick up to a run, Bucky hurries back the other way. He passes the gate he left, looking from side to side as he searches. Searches and hopes, his heart pounding and head spinning. Until he finally spots it. The gate Steve’s flight leaves from is just a little ways ahead of him. 

Bucky begins craning his neck as soon as he sees the gate. If by some miracle Steve hasn’t boarded yet, Bucky needs to find him and he needs to find him now. He pushes forward, not really paying attention to anyone around him. 

“‘Scuse me,” Bucky mumbles as he tries to get through the crowd, squeezing through people just to even catch a glimpse of anyone left by the gate. “Please, I just need to…”

And then he’s there. Right behind a thin wall of people that separate him from the waiting area, scanning over those still left. Elation crackles up Bucky’s spine. There’s Steve. Second in line to board next. 

“Steve!” Bucky shouts, and over all the crowds his voice must not carry. “Steve!” he calls as he makes his way through the last few people that are still in his way. Blocking his path to Steve. 

This time Steve reacts. Starts looking around like he’s heard his name and isn’t sure where it came from. 

“Steve, wait!” Bucky yells. “You can’t go! Don’t get on that plane, _please_!” 

When Steve sees who’s making the commotion, who’s trying to get his attention, his eyes go wide. Shock ripples across his face as he steps away from the line and comes over to where Bucky’s standing, out of breath and trembling with hope. 

“Bucky?” he questions. Closes his eyes and shakes his head. “What’re you doing here?” 

A shudder runs through Bucky. Here’s Steve -- passport and boarding pass in one hand, carry on in the other -- and Bucky’s about to be just as selfish as he was eleven years ago. 

“Please, don’t go to Paris,” he says, and when disbelief flashes through Steve’s eyes, Bucky’s quick to add, “I don’t… I don’t mean forever, I just mean tonight. Now. Please, don’t get on this plane.”

Steve’s mouth opens like he’s not sure what to say or even what the hell is going on, but instead of actually saying anything he just shakes his head and rubs the spot between his eyes. 

“What are you talking about, Bucky?”

“One cup of coffee,” Bucky says. “That’s… that’s all I’m asking. There’ll be another flight to Paris later. I’ll… I’ll even pay for your ticket, I swear. Just, please, have one cup of coffee with me.”

Lips setting in a hard line, Steve just stares at him for a few seconds before sucking in a rough breath. 

“What the hell _is_ this?” he asks. “Is this about _closure_? Are _you_ looking for closure from _me_ after all these years?”

“What?” Bucky shakes his head. “No, Steve, that’s not--”

“Okay, you know what?” Steve sighs softly and gives him something of a smile. “If that’s what you need… you got it. I’m okay. Really. I am. I… I hated you. 

He keeps his chin up as though saying the words straight to Bucky’s face not only makes him feel proud, but gives him a great sense of satisfaction, especially when Bucky winces. 

I hated you for a long time. I was heartbroken for a really long time. But…” Steve clears his throat. “But I got over it. I moved on. And… and you should… too.” He turns to leave, but doesn’t go right away. Steve looks back at Bucky as though there’re too many thoughts racing through his brain. “I gotta… I gotta go. I’m sorry, Bucky, I have to go.” 

Bucky reaches for his wrist before he can even think about what he’s doing. Gently takes hold of it to keep Steve from turning all the way. 

“Steve…”

“ _No_!” Steve is suddenly right up in Bucky’s face. “You _don’t_ get to do this to me, Bucky Barnes,” he growls, and Bucky can’t help but cringe. “You don’t get to come back and… and…” Steve squeezes his eyes shut and clenches his jaw. “It’s _my_ turn, Bucky. _Mine_.”

He turns again and marches away. Steve tries to excuse himself back to where he’d been before Bucky had come and pulled him away. 

Bucky didn’t even know pain like this was possible. He knows damn well he should let him go. It still hurts so much, knowing that Steve can go on and he’ll be fine, and that Bucky himself can go on and he’ll be fine, too. He will. After some time, Bucky knows he’ll get on with his life. But now that he’s seen what they can be like _together_ … it just blows fine out of the water. Brings them to the sky to the light up the world beneath them. 

“We have a house on Long Island!”

The words just burst from his lungs. Unthought of. But Steve needs to know. Needs to know the image he may have once held in his heart was a beautiful one. And Bucky sees that now. 

Over by the entrance to board the plane, Steve tilts his head back like he’s getting a headache. Not to mention becoming incredibly frustrated with Bucky. The glower on his face when he turns back around is proof enough. 

“You hate Long Island,” he grumbles. 

Bucky nods. “Yeah. But it’s home. With you.” 

“Bucky--”

“We have two kids,” Bucky interrupts. Steve’s eyebrows pull in. “Sarah and Ian.” Their little faces flash behind his eyes and Bucky wishes he could hold them there forever. “Sarah’s not much of a ballerina but she tries really hard. She’s a little precocious, but that’s just cause she says what’s on her mind. She’s… she’s so smart and she wants to be an artist like you. And when she smiles…” 

His voice cracks, the glands in his throat swelling enough that it’s too hard to finish that. Steve’s turned all the way around now and while he glances around a bit like he’s uncomfortable, he doesn’t make any move to leave. Bucky takes a few steps closer. 

“Ian likes to sleep in your arms.” Bucky can almost feel the weight of his son in his arms when he rocked him to sleep. “He doesn’t talk much, but he’s always got his eyes open, y’know? He’s always watching us and we just… we _know_ that he’s learning. It’s like… it’s like witnessing a miracle.” 

Steve’s no longer looking around. Now he’s just watching Bucky. He’s even taken a step closer as Bucky does again. 

“The house is small and it’s cramped and it’s always a mess, but it’s ours.” Bucky thinks on that for a second. “Well… after a hundred and twenty, uh, two more payments it’s _gonna_ be ours. And you.” He points to him, a sort of smirk crawling up on his lips. “You’re a non-profit lawyer.” He’s close enough to Steve now that he can see the slightest lift of his eyebrows. “That’s right. _Completely_ non-profit. But that doesn’t seem to bother you.”

Wishing he could put his arms around him, Bucky stands just a few feet away from him and forces himself to not go any further. 

“And we’re in love,” he murmurs, the closest he can get to telling Steve how much he still loves him. Bucky can’t tell for sure, but he thinks Steve’s eyes might glisten. Two bright stars meant to guide the lost home again. “After twelve years of marriage we’re still unbelievably in love. We can barely keep our hands off of each other or even stand to be apart for more than a day.”

A smile lifts on Steve’s lips. His eyes fall for a few heartbeats before sweeping back up to meet Bucky’s. Steve looks at Bucky like he’s waiting for him to go on. So Bucky does.

“I sing to you,” he says, and that smile on Steve’s face grows. “Not… not all the time, but definitely on special occasions. You sketch me. You think I don’t know that, but I do.” That makes Steve blush, even if he wasn’t there with Bucky to know that much. “We’ve had our share of surprises and we’ve made sacrifices, but we stay together. Through every twist and turn, we hold each other up because… because that’s what we do, Steve. Because love each other that much.”

Bucky breathes out softly. Whether Steve’s captivated by what Bucky’s telling him or he’s just too shocked by all of this, he still hasn’t gotten on the plane. He’s still just watching him. There’s not much time left. If Bucky doesn’t touch his heart enough now, he never will. 

“You see, you’re a better person than me,” Bucky admits. Steve goes to say something, but Bucky keeps going before he can. “And it made me a better person to be with you.”

Steve’s face scrunches a bit then and he drops his head before Bucky can see any other expression cross it. When he glances back up, he looks both heartbroken and awed at the same time. 

“I don’t…” Bucky’s voice is beginning to strain, his lip starting to tremble. “I don’t know, maybe the whole thing really was a dream. Maybe I went to bed one lonely night in December and imagined it all. But I _swear_ to you, Steve, _nothing’s_ ever felt more _real_ , and if you get on that plane now it’ll disappear forever.” 

He lowers his head for just a second to gather a little more strength to finish pouring out what’s left of his heart. 

“I know that we can both go on with our lives and we’ll both be just fine. But I’ve _seen_ what we can be like _together_. And it’s…” His voice cracks slightly and drops to a whisper. “Amazing. It’s amazing. You were _right_ , Steve. It was never the _plan_ that made us great. It was _us_. And I _choose_ us, Steve, to the end of the line. I know I didn’t when I should have, when you gave me the chance, and I know I don’t deserve it now, but…” 

Bucky lifts the pictures he’s still clinging onto. The strip that should be four and only has three. Steve’s eyes falls shut.

“You took one, right?” Bucky asks. “Does that… _mean_ anything? If it really doesn’t, then I’ll leave. I go away and never bother you again. But if it does… just… please, Steve. One cup of coffee. You can always go to Paris. Just, please… not tonight.” 

For a few seconds, Steve just goes on not doing anything. Then he blinks and moves his head as though waking from a dream. Steve looks over his shoulder. To where the last few people are boarding the plane. Without looking back at Bucky, he takes a step back that way. 

“I…” Steve looks at Bucky again, confusion and indecision stitched in the pull of his eyebrows. “Bucky, I…” 

“Sir?” The station attendant has come over and is trying to get Steve’s attention. “Sir, are you boarding?”

Again, Steve looks over his shoulder. Looks at the young man standing just a few feet behind him asking if he wants to get on the plane while Bucky asks him to stay. Silence falls all around Bucky, even there in the loud and crowded airport as he waits for Steve’s answer. Only a few seconds tick by -- the longest few seconds of Bucky’s life -- before Steve looks back at him again, his face clear. His mind made up. The air in Bucky’s lungs is unmoving as he waits. Waits and hopes. 

“I can’t,” Steve whispers. 

Bucky tries his best not to let the heartbreak show. This is, after all, Steve’s decision, and he’s already well aware that Steve owes him nothing. That doesn’t stop the way his face crumples. Doesn’t stop the quiver to his lip when he tries to nod his head in understanding or the tears that fill his eyes. 

“Sir,” the station attendant says again. “Are you boarding?”

“I can’t,” Steve repeats, and Bucky’s about to tell him he has no need to explain, that he understands, that he missed his chance eleven years ago and that Steve doesn’t owe him anything, when: “I have to go get coffee with an old friend.”

A breath staggers out of Bucky’s lungs as the station attendant goes back over to the desk and Steve doesn’t follow. Steve is still there. With him. His heart is pounding in his throat and those broken tears have turned into hopeful ones. 

“Steve…”

“Okay, Bucky,” he breathes, once again wearing that awed, almost dazzled expression on his face. Giving Bucky tonight. This chance to rekindle the flame that Bucky can only imagine they both feel still burning between them. 

Small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, Bucky murmurs, gently, “Okay.”

They leave the gate together, side by side to go get that cup of coffee at one of the cafes. Where big, busy crowds begin to dwindle down and disappear as the night goes on and one cup turns to two and three and four. As the first few exchanges of stiff and awkward words give way to the ease of casual conversation -- two souls divided and finally reuniting. Talking and laughing and even exchanging soft touches while a dark sky brightens with the first colorful swirls of dawn. Brief pauses that make Steve blush and Bucky smile. 

And a new day grows around them, warm and peaceful, breathing deep with the promise of tomorrow. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! I really hope you enjoyed :) Thank you so very much for reading and all your support, kudos, and lovely comments! I do have in my head of what happens after this and if I get the chance to write it out I'll definitely post if anyone is interested. 
> 
> But anyway, I really hope you enjoyed and thanks again! 
> 
> feel free to find me on tumblr. A place for marvel and stucky and fun [thebestpersonherelovesbucky](http://www.thebestpersonherelovesbucky.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> This is supposed to just be for fun. I've written this for the fluff and a breather from the heavy and something simple after a whole lot of ACK! It's okay if you don't like it or the tropes being used. Totally okay. But please, let's be cool and keep that to ourselves, okay? 
> 
> come find me on tumblr at [thebestpersonherelovesbucky](http://www.thebestpersonherelovesbucky.tumblr.com/).


End file.
